


Pin the Crown with a Star

by ImperialMint



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After decades of tyranny under King Sigan's rule, Arthur travels from his home in Balor to the city of Camelot in search of his friend's sister. On the way he meets Merlin, a seemingly idiotic commoner who is happy to question why those without magic are treated as second class to those with magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pin the Crown with a Star

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of violence, war and execution. Character death pre-story and in story though only minor.
> 
> For happyevraftr for merlin_holidays

It started with the War of the Dragons. Or at least that was what Arthur had been told back when he’d been a tot just off his nursemaid’s breast in the children’s house. They’d embellished it, made it comical yet grand, never once mentioning the amount of bloodshed that had rained across the kingdom. They used puppets and squiggled drawings, putting on odd voices to re-enact the most important moments in history - the moments that had condemned all non-magical people to a life of misery and lower class.

“Arthur!” a voice called, Elyan nodding to the horse that had just been brought in. “Take care of that, I have to run out.”

Arthur nodded and tied the horse up, collecting the tools he’d need to shoe the horse. It was work he was familiar with, comfortable with, and began shaping the metal with his mind elsewhere.

The War of the Dragons had been a fixation of Arthur’s since he was a babe, but it wasn’t until he was older that he’d realised the terrible truth. It wasn’t a mythical war of fairy tale knights and maidens; it had been a real war, one with blood and death, dragons and men.

Arthur and his generation hadn’t been born when it happened. The war had happened when their parents were children - if they were old enough. Most didn’t remember and the scant few who did had sealed their mouths up, refusing to speak of the past.

But Arthur had been smart. He’d slipped away from the smithy whenever he had a free moment, begged and borrowed books off of people, put together a history of everything he could. The War of Dragons hadn’t been a war, but a massacre.

How could it have been a war when one side had dragons, hundreds of flaming beasts, and the mortal men - those who could not use magic - had been forced into compliance. Rebels had been sold into slavery and the common folk - people like Arthur, Elyan and the others at the smithy - had been demoted to second class subjects, forced to live under the iron fist of a king who hated those without magic.

The horse Arthur was working with shifted and he put down the hot iron for a moment, soothing the creature. It whickered nervously, but nuzzled him all the same and Arthur smiled. The beasts of the land judged no one; they were good creatures.

On the rare occasions Arthur had seen magic users, they had been snooty, quick to show him his place, and it made Arthur’s blood burn. With the animals, there was no class and no discrimination. They either liked you or they didn’t, something Arthur could respect.

He finished the horse before Elyan came back and was grooming it, using a wad of straw and rubbing it over its hair. The horse snorted in appreciation and turned to look at Elyan as he came to stand beside Arthur.

“You should have been a horse master,” Elyan said softly, rubbing the horse between its eyes. Arthur shot him a look and shook his head.

“Add ‘if you had been born with magic’ onto that sentence and it would be more accurate.” He sighed and dropped the straw on the floor, fetching water and hay for the horse. “You know you can’t do anything unless you have it.”

Elyan’s mouth twisted in sympathy. “We may not be able to craft weapons, but we do okay in the village. I don’t think any of the other villages are asked to shoe magician’s horses or are able to build their own homes. We’re lucky,” he said, though the words were still flat.

In return, Arthur shrugged.

“We do what we must to get by,” Elyan said firmly, repeating the mantra of the mortal-folk. “But I have a favour to ask.”

Arthur looked at him in surprise. Elyan was the head blacksmith and Arthur was just one of many selections. Even Arthur had to admit that he wasn’t the best smithy worker, so to be asked for a favour was a great honour and surprise.

“A favour?” he parroted, tilting his head as Elyan nodded, gesturing for Arthur to join him further in the smithy. He called for another worker to watch the horse and get the payment for Arthur as he took him into the house, somewhere Arthur had only poked his head in a few times.

“It’s a delicate matter,” Elyan said, after they were sitting down. Somehow Arthur found himself with a beaker of ale, comfortable with his employer and waiting to accept a favour. It was such an advantageous situation, Arthur was hardly sure it was real.

“My sister works in Camelot,” Elyan said and Arthur’s eyebrows rose.

“Camelot?” he asked, disbelief clouding his voice. “The capitol of the land and the one city that is completely dominated by magic? The city where the only mortal-folk are slaves to the magicians?”

Elyan winced. “It’s not quite like that,” he said. “Gwen... she’s a servant - not a slave. She earns money, a decent wage...” he trailed off.

“I worry about her,” Elyan admitted. “Her recent letters have become... different.”

“Different?” Arthur asked, not understanding.

“She sounds different.” Elyan shook his head and set his ale on the table they were seated at, sighing. “It sounds stupid, but-”

“No, no,” Arthur was quick to say. “If any of my family were alive I would watch out for them.” He smiled at Elyan. “You seem like a good brother and you only want what’s best for her, so I understand your concern... but why are you asking me?”

“I can’t leave the smithy,” Elyan said. “There’s no one to take over, but I also cannot set foot in Camelot.”

Elyan was silent for a moment before he spoke again, voice laden with emotion.

“I was born in Camelot,” he began and Arthur’s eyes widened. “My father was servant to the blacksmiths there and they were good people. It was only when King Sigan found out that they were treating us like humans that he had my father executed and banished me.”

Elyan’s face darkened and Arthur looked away.

“Guinevere was put to work under one of the magicians at court and, thankfully, they get along well. She’s paid, in secret, but if something’s suddenly happened to her...” he trailed off and Arthur nodded.

“It’s a lot to ask,” Elyan said. “And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious. If Sigan’s found out that Gwen’s being paid, I can’t bear to think what’ll happen to her. She’s the only family I have left. I can’t bear to lose her.” Elyan clenched his jaw and Arthur knew that it was inevitable where he was going.

Camelot was the central city in the kingdom. It was the magician Sigan’s signal of power, his stronghold. Many had tried to take the citadel from him, but he’d defeated them with a single blow, ruling for longer than a man’s life should be. Sigan was the stuff of nightmares, the man who had forced the dragons to bow at his whim and rage fire down on the land, the man who had enslaved those without magic and had any who disobeyed him put to death at once.

Sigan was a plague to the land, but he was the most powerful magician ever to have lived. There was no hope anything would ever change, but no one cared anymore.

Not that there hadn’t ever been rebellions. Arthur had been told that his family were involved in one and had grown up in an orphanage, but he’d never felt the need to seek revenge. As long as he kept to his village life was easy and simple for the most part. They went hungry and cold some years, yes, but they were at least protected from raiders by the protection the magicians had placed on their small village. They were allowed to go about their own lives, as long as they respected the magicians.

They weren’t suffering so why should they bother to rebel? Rebellion would no doubt bring instability to the land and that was something no one wanted. Their village was a content one and, before now, Arthur had never had more than the slightest itch to leave, especially for Camelot.

Now though, he would rise to the challenge. He could see how much not being able to go was killing Elyan and, despite being lower than Elyan, Arthur considered him a friend. They had shared ale many times down at the tavern and gotten on well. Besides, Elyan had trained him from knowing nothing about the smithy - he at least owed him that much.

“How will she know you’ve sent me?” Arthur asked, setting his empty cup on the table.

Elyan looked at him, as if he was surprised that Arthur had agreed so readily, before pulling out a pendant. It looked to be an odd coin, but the design was so faded that Arthur couldn’t pick it out.

“My father gave me this. It’s been handed down through my family for generations; if you show her this then Gwen will know it was me who sent you.” Elyan leaned across the table, putting the priceless pendant over Arthur’s head.

“Before you leave tomorrow, I want you to come by the smithy. There are some more things I need to give you, but not now.” They stood and Elyan walked around to Arthur’s side, clasping his arm tightly.

“I cannot thank you enough for this,” he said and Arthur couldn’t help but share his smile. For some reason, this felt right, as if there was a reason that he needed to go to Camelot, and not just to repay Elyan for all he’d done for him.

The horse was gone when Arthur returned, and the worker who’d been watching it handed Arthur a small money pouch. He counted the amount and nodded, satisfied. He’d need to take almost everything with him to Camelot, just to be on the safe side, but that could be done easily. He wasn’t exactly rich and the money would fit easily into the hidden pouch in his bag.

When he arrived home, sundown long past, Arthur packed his bag. He took a handful of spare clothing, an extra travelling cloak, another pair of boots to the ones he was going to wear, and stashed his money in the pocket. After that was done, he looked through the dried meat stores he had and grabbed enough to take on foot, for the times in between villages.

They’d all heard the rumours of Sigan’s road, after all, of the long periods of bleak land between villages. There were clusters of buildings littered along the road between the villages, but they were mostly from the exiles and bastards of Sigan’s world, those banished from Camelot and the villages for living in sin, magic users and mortal-folk joining together.

Sleep was quick to come and Arthur’s head was full of dreams, dragons burning the king’s road until the cobbles split and a man standing in front of him, commanding the dragon and calming it. An impossible dream, for Sigan’s control on the dragons was absolute, but Arthur couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty his mind conjured, the white dragon landing on the ground with a thump and looking at him with piercing, blue eyes.

Arthur woke with the sun, as always, and made sure to collect his bag before he left. He spared a single look at the room that had become a home before turning away, letting the door close tightly behind him. There was no turning back anymore - not that he’d want to. He was heading for something big, something exciting and new, even if the path would be leading him to Camelot.

Elyan was waiting at the forge, face grim yet eyes hopeful. He broke into a smile when he saw Arthur, and drew him into the house, shutting the door behind them.

“I wish I could give you something more substantial,” Elyan said softly, crouching to pull something from under his bed. “But anything bigger and it would be taken from you and you’d be gutted there and then.”

Arthur realised why when Elyan unwrapped a length of cloth to reveal a dagger. It was ornately carved, the blade tipped with a snarling dragon, and Arthur took it in amazement. It fit his hand exactly and, if weapons hadn’t been forbidden for mortal-folk and he wasn’t just a simple smithy worker, Arthur would have asked if it had been made for him.

“It’s another heirloom,” Elyan explained, not seeming to mind how perfectly it suited Arthur. “One that I never thought I’d find the right person for, but here you are.” His voice was light and full of wonder. Arthur scoffed and shook his head, trying to give the dagger back.

“I’m not worthy of something so beautiful,” he muttered. “It’s enough I am borrowing your pendant, I can’t take your dagger as well.”

But Elyan wouldn’t take the blade, crossing his arms as Arthur tried again and again.

“This dagger was made by my relatives to be passed on to a man who would bring hope. It was left in my care for me to give to whomever I chose and I’ve chosen to give it to you, Arthur. The journey you’re going on won’t be easy, but I asked you for this favour because I believe in you.” Elyan gave an odd, hopeful smile. “I think that there are greater things for you than this village and that is why I want you to have this dagger.” He gave a small snort of laughter. “I would have crafted a sword for you, I honestly would have.”

Arthur looked down at the blade and bit back the emotion he felt. No mortal, common man or woman was allowed a weapon, on pain of death. They could use tools, yes, but if wielded as weapons, the magicians would swoop down like crows, bringing plague and disaster in their wake. The common people would be executed for something that the magicians called a necessity, but it was simply how the world worked.

Now though, Elyan had given him a blade of beautiful design. It wasn’t worthy of his soiled hands, but Elyan had insisted.

“I can’t take it,” Arthur began, trying yet again to give the dagger back. “Not because of what would happen if I was caught, but because it’s too precious.”

Elyan kept his arms folded over his chest.

“If you return it to me, I will melt it down and make the finest horseshoe I’ve ever made.” His face was set and Arthur sighed, tucking the dagger under his belt, making sure it was concealed by cloth and leather.

“Then I thank you. I’ll find a way to repay you when I return,” he promised, dismissing Elyan’s shake of the head. Elyan was good to him, kinder than most masters, and a friend.

“Looking for Guinevere is enough,” Elyan said, handing Arthur another package, this time one of cheese and cured meats, enough to bulk up Arthur’s own supplies.

“Your wages for the time you’ll be gone.” Elyan frowned, handing Arthur another bag. It clinked with the sound of coins and Arthur knew how much this was stretching his own coffers. “I wish I had more, but that’s all we can afford to spare right now.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. Taxes had risen sharply - yet again - with the warning that if they were not paid, Sigan would recollect his sorcerers that patrolled each village’s borders. The mortal-folk would have protested if they could afford to, but without the magician’s protection, their village would soon be laid waste by pillagers and bandits. The world outside each village’s walls was a cruel, harsh one, one not many people ventured out into.

And it was exactly where Arthur was headed for a woman he’d never met. It was something crazy that happened in the tales of the gallant hero, but Arthur was no hero. He was an orphan through and through, a common brat raised in a children’s home and lucky enough to get work in a prestigious smithy. He’d never amount to anything, but this way he’d stop asking himself questions, stop asking what was beyond the walls of this village and stop thinking, in the middle of the night when it was pitch black and he was alone, that perhaps he might amount to something more.

“Well then,” Elyan said as Arthur tucked the coin purse in his bag. “Thank you my friend,” he said, and nodded his head. Arthur nodded in return and stepped from the smithy, leaving everything he’d ever known behind.

Leaving your village wasn’t prohibited. In fact, it was easy as opening a door and stepping out. The magicians on the high wall didn’t even bat an eyelid as Arthur reached for the gate, trembling hands falling short of the bolt.

Could he really do this? Could he step from the village and go to Camelot - of all places - simply because Elyan had asked him to check on his sister? Arthur took a deep breath and pulled back the bolt. The sound seemed deafening, but no one came to wrench him away, to tell him he wasn’t allowed. Instead, Arthur slipped from the village, left the door wide open and waited.

“You staying out?” A voice asked and Arthur turned to look at the door. A man in dark black robes stood by the door, holding it open. He was a magician, a guard of the wall judging by the arrangement of runes on the cuff and neck of his robes, silver markings for protection and enforcement in spell casting.

“Um,” Arthur began, voice dumb and low. “Yes,” he said, staring at the magician as if waiting for him to attack.

“Alright then,” the magician said instead. “Good luck out there.”

And that was that. Arthur blinked at the sealed door to the village, the wide metal creation stretching across his eyesight as he stared at it. How easy it was to escape their village, and how strange. All his life Arthur had wondered about what was out there, what had happened to their ancestors, and here he was, feet planted in the grass outside the wall and about to head to the bustling capitol city of Camelot.

The sun was in the sky now, fully risen as the world outside the village walls began to creep awake. In the shadow of the village lay only grass and the occasional animal cluster, farmer’s animals that were feeding on the rich grass out here. It was only around two hours into his journey - too far from prying magician eyes now - that Arthur stumbled across the first settlements, shack houses meant for travelers and exiles.

King Sigan had been very particular about this rule. Magicians and mortal-folk were never allowed to lie together and, if found in a compromising position, they would be exiled from the village or city, left to fend for themselves. Arthur wasn’t sure what kind of men or women he would meet here, but he had his dagger and he could be fast on his feet.

Though he’d been planning to avoid taverns and such places until he absolutely had to, Arthur found himself seated at a bench a little while later, surrounded by disgruntled travelers.

“It’s not as if you could predict the way to the King’s road would be flooded,” someone off to the side said to their companion, who grunted in reply.

“We’ve been asking that they get that bridge sorted for months now. I bet if a magician had asked-” the speaker was cut off as someone crashed into them, slopping muddied ale over their arm.

“So sorry,” the man said, eyes crinkling as he straightened up. By now, almost all of the tavern was watching in curiosity, wondering whether they’d need to abandon their drinks and risk wading through the flood water before it was cleared by the magicians.

“But you might want to be careful. Eyes and ears are everywhere, sadly, and I doubt your companion would want to lose you.” The man gave a tight-lipped smile. “Again, I’m very sorry.”

The man nodded to those at the bench before looking around, trying to spot a free seat. Arthur looked away, down at his drink, hoping that he hadn’t seemed too interesting (at this moment in time, everything was more interesting than staring at his drink and waiting for the water to be cleared) and hoping the man wouldn’t notice his curiosity. In these lands, Arthur knew it was best to remain anonymous when confronted with strange men.

As luck would have it, though, the brawny man beside Arthur stood up, cursing loudly and stating that he couldn’t stay here any longer. People cheered, egging the man on to cross the flood waters, and the man pumped his fists, cheering with them as he left. It was an unusual show of camaraderie between strangers that Arthur hadn’t expected, but it also led to the tall man sitting beside him, slipping in before anyone else could claim the spot.

“Unfortunate that the bridge broke,” he said, trying to claw Arthur into a conversation. Arthur wasn’t a fool though, and he half-turned away, hoping the man would lose interest.

“The rains have been a bit unpredictable lately. I’m going to Camelot to see if I can speak with the council and have them dispatch aid to our village... we’re about as old as that bridge was and I doubt we’ll last any longer.” He paused to take a sip of his drink, laughing slightly to himself and Arthur wondered if he was quite alright or if he had some sort of mental affliction.

“Can you imagine that big guy who just left wading through the flooded river? It’s got to be pretty fast flowing too... I don’t like his odds.” Arthur sighed and a few other patrons shot him sympathetic looks. Unless this strange man decided to shut up and leave him alone, Arthur knew he’d be stuck with him until the bridge was mended.

“I’m Merlin,” the man said and Arthur inhaled deeply. Either this man was ridiculously stupid and naive or he really did have a mental affliction. You don’t just announce yourself to a tavern, after all.

Arthur turned to look at him and almost started when he saw Merlin’s eyes fixed wholly on him, blue and open. There wasn’t a hint of madness in them, or stupidity for that matter, and it made Arthur reach his hand out and nod his head.

“I’m Arthur,” he said, abandoning his ale and letting the conversation engulf him. “Also traveling to Camelot.”

It was such a small piece of information, but it brightened Merlin’s face and his smile widened.

“It’s a dangerous road,” Merlin began. “Not only the King’s road, but the smaller roads. It might be worthwhile to stick together.”

Merlin looked so hopeful, and though it went against everything Arthur had told himself and been brought up to believe, he wanted to trust this stranger.

“Okay,” Arthur said, nodding his head. “Yeah.” He smiled, raising his mug to Merlin and nodding his head.

They spent the next couple of hours talking. The tavern slowly emptied as news the bridge had been fixed filtered in, patrons leaving to continue their journey. A few, like Arthur and Merlin, remained, either waiting to ease their passage (the bridge could only hold so many people at one time after all) or to wait for their lunch.

Merlin and Arthur ate comfortably, both willing to spare the bit extra for the warm bread that had just been cooked. The tavern wench served them with a smile and even raised her eyebrows to Merlin, who grinned in return and nodded to her.

“They’re good people,” he said when he turned back to Arthur. “A little rough around the edges perhaps, but still good.”

Arthur had narrowed his eyes, unable to stay his tongue. “They were exiled by the king for living in sin,” he said and Merlin looked at him with wide eyes. “Mortal-folk shouldn’t mix with the magicians.”

The look Merlin gave him was one that suggested Arthur had just kicked his childhood dog.

“Why not?” he challenged quietly, making sure no one could overhear them. “Magicians are people too,” he pointed out carefully, as if explaining it to a child.

“I know they’re people,” Arthur retorted, stabbing a chunk of bread into his soup. Droplets splashed onto his fingers and he licked them off before carrying on. “We’re just the common folk and they’re the ones who protect and guide us. I may not agree with everything Sigan does, but without him the land would be in chaos.”

Merlin looked taken aback by that and Arthur raised an eyebrow in question.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked softly, almost too quietly for Arthur to hear. “Is that what you really see?”

Merlin grabbed his hand and slid closer.

“Look at that man in the corner.” Arthur followed Merlin’s eye line and saw a thin, middle-aged man. He looked fairly clean for the road, but his hand was shaking as he sipped soup from his spoon. “He used to be a village man, safe inside the walls and out from under Sigan’s nose. That didn’t stop the magicians pounding on his door in the middle of the night, killing his wife and children in front of his eyes as he begged them to stop, pleaded for mercy.”

Merlin’s voice was stone cold, almost cruel. The grip on his arm tightened and he turned to another person.

“The tavern wench? She runs this place by herself, putting on a brave face when it used to belong to her parents. They were rounded up and taken like sheep to the slave markets, sold off and separated. She was fourteen at the time, in love and yet had to give it all up so she wouldn’t starve.” Merlin continued around the room, telling stories of horror and cruelty, all on the orders from Sigan and his men.

“There are magicians too, some of them here. Exiled for refusing to hurt people. Out on the roads, these people aren’t just living in sin, Arthur.” He said Arthur’s name wearily, familiarly - as if they’d known each other for years instead of mere hours.

“They chose to exile themselves because they do not want to live in a society where one group of people is punished for something they cannot control. Sure some of them will be bandits and thieves, but the majority were once people like you and me living simple lives until Sigan destroyed that.” Merlin gave a sigh and Arthur felt almost strangled by the emotion in his words. He was clearly passionate, that was one word for it, but it was the kind of passion that inspired others.

“It’s just the way it is,” Arthur said, remembering the teachings that had been drummed into him. The people who were exiled were liars and thieves and you must always take care on the roads. It was looked down upon if you did need to leave your village, but not disallowed. Still, Merlin’s words had changed his views ever so slightly. It was a start, Arthur supposed, and he looked down at his soup, not hungry anymore, but not about to waste a drop.

“You said you grew up in Ealdor?” Arthur asked, changing the subject. Merlin let him and smiled, though it wasn’t quite as wide as earlier.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a small village, probably much smaller than your Balor.” Arthur smiled at the name of his village and wondered what it was like to live in an even smaller one. Balor wasn’t exactly small, but Arthur couldn’t imagine being comfortable in anything smaller, having everyone know you and your secrets.

“It was good there,” Merlin continued, turning back to his soup and taking a noisy sip. “Just mother and I in our house, but everyone chipped in and helped.”

“How many magicians does a small town get?” Arthur asked curiously.

“Magicians?” Merlin asked, soup dripping from the spoon as he hovered it by his mouth. “Small villages don’t get magicians. We don’t even get walls.” He shrugged and Arthur’s eyes widened. He couldn’t imagine living without the protection of a wall, much less without magicians.

“Why?” he choked out, hardly believing Merlin, but knowing it was the truth. What reason did Merlin have to lie? And, even if he did, why lie about something so trivial?

“We’re not a mass-production village, we can only just about sustain ourselves. To Sigan, we don’t warrant protection, unlike a village such as Balor that generates a mass of income for the land.” Merlin sighed, finished up the last of the soup and stretched out. “It’s just the way things are really,” he said, so matter of fact and uncaring.

Arthur wondered what he was doing here. It would have been easy to stay at the smithy - Elyan had even been expecting him to turn down the request. Instead, here he was, learning truths that he’d never even considered and being thrown from everything he knew.

“I know I forced my company upon you,” Merlin said, “but if you don’t wish to travel the King’s road with me, I won’t mind.”

Looking at Merlin, it was hard to judge him. He was a man from a small village that had thrived even without protection. He was traveling to Camelot alone - for reasons Arthur still wasn’t clear about - and logically, Arthur should tell him that he didn’t want his company.

So, of course, he said exactly the opposite.

  
**.**   


The road they traveled before it merged onto the King’s road was one that was well trodden and had rivers - large and small - criss-crossing it. This meant that Arthur and Merlin spent half of their walk in the mud and the other half crossing bodies of water. There were bridges constructed for only the biggest of rivers - the ones that gave you no hope of jumping across or wading through - but the rest? You were stuck with getting at least a little wet.

“Stop being such a girl, Merlin!” Arthur called, laughing as Merlin slopped through the bog at the side of the river. It had been two days since they’d met and they were due to merge onto the King’s road soon... that is if Merlin decided to cross the decent sized river in a timely fashion.

“Shut up!” Merlin shouted back, the scowl on his face visible even from the other side of the river.

It was an easy cross, a simple slosh through the water, but Merlin was wearing thinner boots than Arthur and he doubted they were as waterproof. He sighed, setting his pack down on the ground and splashing back over to Merlin.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, confusion deepening as Arthur squatted slightly, back to Merlin.

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned, but Arthur simply shook his head.

“Just hop on,” he said, crouching down a little more and waiting for Merlin.

The hands that clutched his shoulders were strong and he heaved Merlin onto his back. It took Arthur a moment to adjust to the extra weight, taking the slightest step forwards into the river. Cold water sloshed up his leg, spilling into his boot, and he cursed lightly, shifting his grip on Merlin’s legs.

“I’m sorry!” Merlin said, bending to whisper in Arthur’s ear. “You should have just dragged me across.”

Arthur let Merlin slide off once they’d reached the other side and bent to inspect the damage. He had a wet circle staining his trousers, but no water had gotten far into the boot itself.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, colour high on his cheeks as he brushed non-existent dust from his front. “I... thank you.”

Arthur nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “I’ve got longer boots,” he said, stupidly. Merlin grinned and reached for the pack on the ground, holding it out for Arthur to slip into. He nodded his thanks and shook his damp leg out, raising an eyebrow to Merlin.

“Come on, then, you pathetic excuse for a person,” Arthur said in good humour. “The king’s road isn’t that far and Camelot can’t be much further.”

Though he proved to be right about the first, the journey was far from over. Night began to fall and Merlin secured them a room at an inn, happily selecting a bed and lying down in relief.

“You know with all this walking, I think I’m going to end up with a blister instead of a foot when we get to Camelot.” Merlin wrinkled his nose as he pulled his boots off, lying on his back on his chosen bed. Arthur set his pack down and began pulling food out, enough to share.

“You’re a village boy,” he countered, shoving the rest of his pack under the bed and sitting down. “Shouldn’t you be hardy and used to it by now?” He offered Merlin some dried meat, and Merlin abandoned his war against his socks to take it with a thank you.

“Yeah, but that’s different,” he said, chewing the meat. “This is walking leagues to the city, and that is walking around fields. It’s entirely different.”

Arthur hummed, but rolled his eyes all the same. “Of course it is,” he said. “I bet you were that one worker who always dropped everything and made a mess of things even when there was nothing but air around you.”

Though he didn’t reply, that was all Arthur needed and he laughed, setting down the meat he held.

“Truly Merlin, I don’t think I know anyone quite like you.”

Merlin grinned in response and shrugged his shoulders.

“Just think of the horror if there were two Arthurs,” he said, shaking his head with a mock-grave expression. It caused Arthur to laugh, setting Merlin off too and they both lay back on their beds with tears pricking the corners of their eyes.

Dinner was a meagre affair of cold meats and cheese, but it filled the hole well enough. At some point after dinner and before Arthur stood to undress, Merlin had fallen asleep, socks still half-on and half-off. Arthur slipped his shirt off and loosened the ties on his trousers, debating whether to take them off as well. Merlin shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his side and throwing an arm out. He looked so careless that Arthur threw caution to the wind, stepping out of his trousers and ducking under the covers in his smallclothes.

Before he blew the candle out, Arthur considered waking Merlin, but he looked exhausted and decided against it. He did get up though, grabbing a blanket from his pack and throwing it over Merlin.

In his sleep, Merlin looked younger and far more peaceful. He twitched under Arthur’s blanket, shifting under the warmth it provided, and Arthur smiled. Butterflies crawled into his stomach and he made a hasty retreat back to his own bed before he woke Merlin, trying to ignore the gut-clenching feeling he felt.

Morning dawned far too quickly and it was Merlin who brought breakfast up. Slightly stale bread and a gruel-like substance were hardly very nice food, but they were good for energy and they left no scraps.

“We might be able to hitch a few rides,” Merlin said as they left the inn, adjusting his bag and looking at Arthur. “Otherwise it’s a good week or three before we get there.” He looked up at the sky wistfully and Arthur looked at the road they were to follow, squinting into the distance.

“I never realised it was this far before,” Arthur said, sighing slightly. “All the stories about the journey never mention what the feet think.”

Merlin snorted. “Blisters,” was all he said and Arthur hummed in agreement.

“Good thing we’ll never be judged by our feet,” he said lightly and Merlin shook his head with a smile, making a snide remark about the stench of Arthur’s feet and laughing outright when Arthur smacked his shoulder lightly.

The journey to Camelot was a long one. Nights spent indoors were outnumbered by nights spent sleeping under the stars. They spent as much time as they could outside as the inns increased in costs the closer they grew to Camelot.

Though they traveled alone for the most part, occasionally others would join them. They slept in groups, sharing stories of the past and – in some cases – hopes for the future.

Always as an undercurrent, Arthur could feel that these men and women they met wanted a change. They were unhappy with Sigan and his kingdom and had chosen to leave, if they hadn’t been exiled already.

Exiles were nothing like Arthur had expected. Everyone back in his village had made them out to be traitors and scum, but the people Arthur and Merlin supped with and slept amongst were good, honest people. Some were angry with life and others were complacent, but they were all similar to the people that Arthur had shared village life with.

By the time Camelot was visible, Arthur and Merlin had grown closer. There were times one couldn’t stand the other and plenty they disagreed on, but that didn’t lessen the strength of their friendship.

“We should get there tomorrow,” Merlin said one night. It was just the two of them in the shadow of Camelot’s castle, less than half a day’s walk away from the city.

Though they were so close, there were no buildings to be seen and the only signs of life around them were animals and people camped out, small clusters out in the open. Sigan had forbidden any of the exiles to live close to Camelot and there were regular magician patrols along the road, making sure to keep any unsavoury behaviour in check.

“Why did you come to Camelot?” Arthur asked, lying next to Merlin and looking up at the stars. Merlin was silent for a moment, fidgeting under his blanket and bumping arms with Arthur.

“For work, mostly,” he said after a lengthy moment. “And that I didn’t fit in back in Ealdor anymore.” He sounded bittersweet and Arthur couldn’t help but brush his hand against Merlin’s wrist.

“I was too much trouble for the village to handle,” Merlin said, turning to Arthur with a grin. “Always causing trouble and getting into messes. My father suggested that I start looking to my future and decided to send me off to Camelot for work.”

Merlin closed his eyes as Arthur looked at him.

“My mother would love you,” he said, smiling. “She’s the kind that worries about everyone and I know she’d want to take you under her wing.” Merlin cracked an eye open. “The fruit pies are edible, but if she tries to feed you breakfast, don’t take it. Even after years of making it, she’s never quite got the hang of porridge.”

It was lovely to hear Merlin speaking of his family and Arthur was surprised that both his parents were still alive. Almost everyone of his generation had at least one parent missing and it was even more surprising that Merlin had both for the simple reason that they lived in a defenceless village.

“I never knew my parents,” Arthur found himself saying. Merlin’s hand reached to join with his and he continued. “I grew up in an orphanage until I was old enough to work and then started at the smithy. Elyan was good enough to accept an orphan with no claims in the world.”

“Didn’t you ever wonder who they were?” Merlin asked, voice caught in the time before sleep.

“I never stopped,” he said, thinking of all the people he’d thought of as his parents. They’d been bakers to nobles, mortals to magicians… if they existed, Arthur had at least once thought of them as his parents.

“But there’s no sense in asking questions when no one knows the answer. I was abandoned, for whatever reason, but it made me who I am so how could I be angered with that?” Arthur looked out at the vast sky, tracking constellations.

“Not many people share your philosophies,” Merlin said, voice thick as he began to fall asleep. “That’s why I wanted to walk to Camelot with you. I’m glad.”

The words drifted off as Merlin fell asleep, but Arthur remained, looking out at the stars and his hand still linked with Merlin’s.

  
**.**   


The gates to Camelot were huge, possibly the furthest you could get from the gates at Balor and the non-existent ones of Ealdor. They were inscribed with dragons and hundreds of other animals, magical and otherwise, and heavily manned with magicians.

“Next!” a magician called and Merlin nodded to Arthur, splitting up from him. You were called through into Camelot separately, that much Arthur had learnt while watching countless others enter the city. Whatever else it may be, Camelot knew how to guard itself.

When it was his turn, Arthur stepped up to the two magicians who would be inspecting him. They asked him a plethora of questions, from his name to his birth town, to the colour of Sigan’s banner and his views on criminals. Arthur answered them almost honestly, bending the truth a little when it came to his views. Merlin might have opened his eyes a little more, but the magicians didn’t need to know.

He was eventually let through and stumbled into Camelot feeling a little lost. Merlin hadn’t been inspected for half the time Arthur had and was waiting, but it wasn’t Merlin that Arthur focused on.

The castle, though it could be seen just as clear from outside the walls, seemed grander. It was huge, sprawling above the lower town, in white stone that seemed to glimmer with magic. The markets around were bustling, magicians in their blue robes mingling with mortal-folk, though they all kept to themselves.

“It’s…” Arthur began when he caught up with Merlin, but the words died in his throat.

“Unlike anything you’ve seen before?” Merlin supplied, smiling. “Yeah,” he added with a small shake of his head.

They walked through the market, Merlin explaining that he’d asked the magicians at the gate if he knew a place they could stay. They mentioned the name of a property owner and Merlin turned to Arthur with hope in his eyes.

“I mean… I know you might go back to Balor at some point, but you’ll need to find Guinevere and it could be a while.” Merlin shifted on the spot, breaking off just as a man with a small herd of goats passed by.

“What I mean is…” Arthur looked at him with a smile, expectant look on his face for what Merlin was about to say.

“It might be a good idea to share a house,” Merlin finished, looking around the marketplace. “It’ll be cheaper for one.”

Slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, Arthur drew him closer. “It would be an honour,” he said, “providing you cook.”

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur shook his head.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want my cooking. I once tried to cook a chicken and, well,” Arthur frowned, remembering an incident he’d rather forget. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

Laughter escaped Merlin’s throat as they walked down the marketplace. They paused, inspecting the exotic wares, from fresh bread to fruits that had been brought in over the seas, all novelty fare compared to the dried meat and stew diet they’d adopted recently.

They only stopped once, for Merlin to ask where he could find the property master. A handful of helpful village girls gave them the directions, tittering behind their wares when Arthur thanked them.

The property master operated what looked like an old stable. It was busy – a queue extending into the main market was leading out of the stable – and Arthur and Merlin joined the line.

“Do all these people need homes?” Arthur asked Merlin. He’d been given a home back in Balor, through the children’s home, and had never thought that others might be literally queuing on the streets for a roof.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, casting his eye over the people before them. “I hope not – perhaps they want to see if there are any other homes available.”

The queue moved quickly, which was a testament to the skill of the property master no doubt. The people that passed looked satisfied, as if they’d got what they came for, and Arthur hoped that he and Merlin would be leaving just the same.

“You’re from the outside,” the man said, taking a deep drink from his mug. “And you’re looking for an inn?”

Merlin shook his head and looked at Arthur. He was suddenly the picture image of a small-village boy, looking up to someone he trusted to make the actual deal. Arthur smiled tightly, shaking his head.

“A house. One that we could share for a while.” Arthur squared his shoulders as the property master narrowed his eyes, taking the two of them in. He was an older gentleman, balding and with a broad chest. He had deep lines in his forehead and, if not for the gap-toothed smile he adopted, Arthur would have thought him an unkindly man.

“I have a house for you. It’s not more than a little shed, but if you’re not staying here long…” he drifted off and Merlin beamed, nudging Arthur in the side.

During their journey to Camelot, Arthur had discovered that Merlin was hopeless at keeping the money pouch safe. It either ended up at the bottom of his pack – taking a long time to dig out – or it was falling from the top. Eventually they had made the mutual decision that Arthur would be in charge of both their funds and the trip had progressed smoothly from there on.

It meant now that it was Arthur who was fumbling at his pack, digging through the top level of clothes until he wrapped his hand around the coin purse. He tipped out five gold coins, payment for now, and the property master inclined his head.

“The tax collectors will be the next ones you hear from,” he said, nodding to Merlin as well. “Careful what they charge you – they’ll try and have it on with you.”

Thanking the man, Arthur and Merlin left and headed for the end of the market place. The property master had given them a slip of paper, an address jotted in scrawl, and it was the number that they looked for.

Their new house was, as had been described, not more than a shed. It looked big enough to house a horse comfortably, but it was hardly luxurious. Still, they weren’t looking for luxury and Arthur opened the door with a smile, taking in the tiny table and the lone bed.

Arthur turned to Merlin. “It’s… cosy,” he said, wondering how much it would have cost for a bigger house. They would have to pay more in taxes than Arthur did for his home back in Balor – and that home was easily bigger than this.

Still, it was a roof over their heads and Arthur was thankful. Everything in Camelot seemed to run as a business; like clockwork. It was efficient and no doubt something that only furthered their development in the world, but Arthur wondered at what cost. There was always someone who paid, everyone knew that, and while it might not be evident in Camelot itself, even big villages like Balor had a beggar’s district for those who failed to pay the king’s taxes.

He turned to Merlin and found him with narrowed eyes, fixed on the bed.

“It’s too late to get another one,” Arthur found himself saying. Evening was drawing closer and while it might not technically be too late, Arthur was tired and didn’t want to lug a bed into their shed.

“Oh,” Merlin said, turning to look at him. “It doesn’t bother me. I used to share with my friend in Ealdor when the nights were cold; sometimes the entire village would sleep in the same room too.” Merlin looked thoughtful for a moment. “I doubt another bed would fit anyway.”

Arthur looked at the room and nodded. Merlin was right – another bed would take up the rest of the space.

They set about unpacking their bags. Leftover food went on the table and when everything was tucked into corners or the lone chest that was in the shed, Arthur and Merlin sat down on creaky chairs, opposites at the table.

As they began eating, Merlin started to talk about what they could do to liven the shed up, but Arthur simply watched him. They hadn’t known each other long, but they’d become comfortable with each other. Arthur would say that he trusted Merlin, which frightened him a little to think that.

“We can get a chicken maybe?” Merlin said, looking at an empty corner and frowning. “Maybe look into seeing if we can get a small coop outside. We used to bring the birds inside in winter… trust me you do not want a cockerel sharing your room.” He gave a wistful smile and Arthur smiled in return.

“You’re staying then?” Arthur asked, casually. Merlin blinked, as if he’d never anticipated such a question.

“Yes,” Merlin replied, almost instantly. “I thought the getting the job part was kind of obvious that I’d be staying here.” He tilted his head, a sad smile slipping onto his face. “Are you going to leave after you've found her?”

Arthur looked down at his hands, squeezing the hard cheese in front of him. It crumbled slightly and he set it back down on the table, wiping his fingers over the wood grain.

“Maybe,” he said, refusing to look at Merlin. “I have a job back in Balor and Elyan’s a good man…but…” Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

How could you tell someone you were willing to throw away your life just because of circumstance? How could he tell Merlin that he was willing to stay in Camelot simply because he wanted to know what life would be like with Merlin? It was pathetic and stupid, but Arthur couldn’t change it. In the short time he’d known the other man, Merlin had become a friend; perhaps even more.

“Ah,” was all Merlin said in return, kicking Arthur lightly under the table.

The mood shifted once again and Merlin began telling a story of a goblin who cursed a castle, changing the characters to those who lived in the pale citadel in the centre of Camelot. Even Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Sigan without hair and flatulent, but he threw cheese pieces when Merlin involved him.

“Why a donkey?” he asked between shakes of his head. “Every animal and you pick a donkey?”

Merlin snorted, flicking breadcrumbs back. One danced across Arthur’s forearm and he plucked it off, sending it falling to the ground.

“I like donkeys,” Merlin said in defence. “And I bet if you were a prince, you’d be a royal ass.” The joke sent Merlin into a pathetic bout of laughter, but Arthur just rolled his eyes, fighting back the urge to smile.

“If I’m a prince then you can be my manservant.” Merlin paused in his laughter, sending a slightly incredulous look to Arthur. “And I’ll… put you in the stocks for that ass comment.” Arthur grinned and Merlin resumed flicking breadcrumbs.

“You’re terrible,” he muttered, aiming for Arthur’s mouth and flicking it onto his chin.

“Good thing I’m not a prince then,” Arthur replied smoothly, turning in his chair. He looked over at the bed and then back at Merlin, frown upon his brow.

“Tired?” came a gentle question and Arthur nodded. Even though it wasn’t late, they’d been on their feet for weeks.

The king’s road was no shabby feat to walk on, and neither had slept properly since they’d started their walk. Tonight would be the first chance they had to relax, even if they did share.

“I am,” admitted Merlin, stretching as he stood. “What side do you want?”

In the end, Arthur settled for the side closest to the door and stripped down to soft, loose breeches. Merlin switched shirts and slipped on trousers similar to Arthur’s before he bounded into the bed, grabbing a blanket from his pack and throwing it over the threadbare one that was already there.

“No point in being shy,” he called out to Arthur, flipping the covers back. “We shared a bath at that one inn and I’ve seen you naked countless times since then.”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not selling it,” he said, deadpan. “But luckily I don’t care about that.”

He grabbed his own blanket, adding it to the small pile, before he slipped under them, knees bumping Merlin’s.

“Sorry,” he muttered, but Merlin just shifted a little, making their position a little less uncomfortable.

“Oh,” said Merlin suddenly, just as Arthur was beginning to settle. “If it turns out I’m draped all over you when we wake, I’m sorry.” He bent his head slightly, the pillow dipping and Arthur shifting a little closer.

“Likewise,” Arthur said in return, bumping knees again. “Let’s just get to sleep.”

Even though the light was still shining in through the small window, they both relaxed, falling asleep quickly after the tiresome journey. Camelot and its wonders could be explored later; they’d earned enough rest by now to simply enjoy it.

  
**.**   


It was a week before Arthur knew he couldn’t delay his task anymore. His time with Merlin had been well spent, but Elyan was depending on him. He had to find Guinevere, even though Merlin had assured him they would find her eventually together.

On their walks around the city, they had found many possibilities for where Guinevere could be living. There was the servant district for one and plenty of other, slightly wealthier districts that servants were allowed to live in; especially those who tended to royal guests.

Arthur rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. He looked back at Merlin, who was fast asleep and almost lay back down. The pendant on his chest pressed against his breastbone and Arthur knew there was no turning back. Elyan had trusted him and he had promised to find Guinevere. The least he could do was stay true to that promise, the one that had brought him to the same road as Merlin in the first place.

He couldn’t deny it; Arthur felt something for Merlin. It was stronger than friendship, but what could he do about it? They were friends, closer than a majority but still just friends.

With a sigh, Arthur ignored Merlin’s earlier warnings to not go out in the night. Arthur slipped on some clothes and boots, eyeing the dagger that he’d hidden under the bed and deciding against it. There wouldn’t be a threat in the city; the magicians kept it on lock down at all times, after all.

The door opened soundlessly and Arthur slipped out into the cool, night air. He couldn’t see the stars, Camelot was a massive city after all, but the thought that they were there - the very same stars that had looked over his own village and offered some comfort.

Following the directions he’d managed to drag out of a market farmer the day before, Arthur stuck to the shadows. He moved through the city, avoiding a patrol that passed by and sighing in relief when he went unnoticed.

And that was when, of course, Arthur was thrown to the ground, an invisible force pinning him down. He struggled against it, legs kicking against the ground and arms straining under him. He gasped for breath and the pressure relieved a little, just enough for a cloaked figure to slip chains around his hands.

“He’s a mortal,” the magician said to his patrol companions. The orbs of light in their hands cast strange glows on their face, bending them into strange creatures, not those that Arthur knew.

“Then he’ll go straight to Sigan.” The magician speaking sounded weary, as if he wanted nothing more than to let Arthur free and return to bed. “Poor sod like him won’t stand a chance.”

Merlin had told him what happened to those who broke the law. Curfew was instated for a reason and if you were caught out and about, punishment was served. For magicians, it was as light as a simple caution, but for the mortal-folk?

“What do you think Sigan will want to do with him?” one of the magicians surrounding Arthur said as they hauled him up. The magic they had used seeped into his body, numbing him and Arthur could barely move.

“Put him to work by the looks of him,” the magician hauling Arthur along said. “He’s young and fit judging by his build. And he was struggling against the strongest bind,” the magician added in afterthought.

Whatever that meant, Arthur heard an impressed murmur pass around the group. He felt a surge of pride that he’d managed to kick back against magic, but the small surge passed quickly as they drew ever closer to the castle keep.

“Sigan will see him tomorrow with the others,” one of the group muttered. They’d dragged Arthur down to the holding cells and thrown him in one before locking the door. “I want to get back to bed before the sun rises tonight.”

The key turned in the lock and Arthur was left alone in the cell. It was bricked up so that he couldn’t see any of the other prisoners, but that didn’t stop him from hearing them.

“Another pig to join the slaughter!” someone laughed, a deep, gravely voice. He sounded mad and Arthur wondered if this was what happened to those in the cells. “Sigan won’t rest until every last mortal-born and magician-traitor has their head on a pike!”

“That’s enough, you!” someone outside said; a guard, Arthur supposed.

“Why? I’m going to die anyway, why not share the truth with the innocents who have been shackled in your cells?” The deep voice laughed again and Arthur curled up, shuddering. He was mad, yes, but there was clearly truth in his words and it reminded Arthur of Merlin, back when they’d first met and in the darkness of a tavern.

“People go missing in the dead of night, no one knows where,” the mad-man was saying. Arthur could hear the guard jangling his keys, trying to unlock the door. “Your so-called king wants his pure world, but isn’t afraid to get his peoples’ hands dirtied in the process!”

The cell’s door clanged open and Arthur closed his eyes as he heard the sounds of fists hitting flesh. The mad-man refused to cry out and Arthur imagined him, a pathetic ball of a person with clenched lips. This was the truth Merlin had been talking about, the horror of Sigan’s world and Arthur had ignored him, falling into it as easy as an animal took bait in a trap.

“That’ll keep you quiet,” the guard muttered, and there was the sound of an iron door closing, the cell shutting up once more. “And let that be a lesson to anyone else whose mouth decides to get smart.”

Silence took over the cells then and Arthur closed his eyes, resting his forehead on his knees. He took deep, steadying breaths, ignoring the rats in the corner and ignoring the fact that he awaited judgment from a cruel king for doing nothing but walking.

He didn’t sleep that night.

  
**.**   


“Out!” someone shouted and Arthur uncurled, his entire body stiff from being in the same position all night.

A guard was at the cell door and he waved Arthur out, clipping cuffs on him and attaching him to a procession of prisoners. Arthur couldn’t see the beaten man amongst them and wondered what his fate was - execution block or had the guard last night done the job quicker?

The journey was a blur, but Arthur knew the exact moment he passed into the magician’s section. It was immaculately clean, pristine and ornate. Servants milled around, heads down and keeping out the way, dressed in thin robes that showed they had no place amongst magic users. Exuberance and wealth dripped off every corner, every inch, and Arthur wondered if this was what their taxes were really being spent on. It wasn’t as hollow a thought as before, not when Arthur had experienced the welcome Sigan extended to those born without magic.

They were dragged into a small room, the purpose of it being a holding chamber. They were lined up and a magician strode in, nodding to the guard.

“There are rules you need to obey when entering the Sacred Hall. The magic in the hall prevents you from breaking them, but law states that we need to inform you.” The magician looked annoyed by this and the guard snorted.

“Emrys is on duty then?” the guard said and the magician rolled his eyes.

“You know what he’s like, thinking the mortals are like us.” He scoffed. “I doubt he’d be here if Sigan hadn’t ordered him to the capitol.”

The guard shrugged and one of the prisoners shifted, jangling their cuffs. The noise broke the onlookers out of their conversation and the magician went back to explaining the terms of the law.

“You will be punished if you attack one with magic. The magic in the room will react accordingly to what you intended to do and you will receive appropriate punishment.” The words hung heavy in the air and Arthur could feel the magic behind them. Even if these words were used simply to scare, it didn’t hide the fact that these people - the ones Sigan doted on - were the ones with all the power.

“You will pass judgment separately, though all will be witness to your crimes. The magicians invited must include the King, at least two members of the council, a personal advisor and, if available, Emrys.” The magician’s voice pitched a little at the name and Arthur wondered who this Emrys was. He was clearly someone of influence if he had been asked to Court, but what exactly was his purpose?

“All punishments delivered must be done in the following turning of day or else they are voided.” The magician speaking shut his mouth with a clack of teeth and nodded to the guard.

“Take them in,” he ordered, throwing open the huge doors that lay on the far wall with a lazy flick of his hand. “And let’s hope we’re done with them quickly.”

They entered the hall in one line, still chained together. The hall was wide, marble pillars lining the path up to the throne - a deep mahogany creation upon which an old man sat. He was surly, eyes narrowed like those of a crow and he sat hunched forwards, barking orders to servants around him.

Arthur came to stop with the others and they were let loose, chains clanging to the ground. The magician who had led them in pushed a young man forwards, explaining that he’d been slacking off work and, like all of them, was here to receive his retribution.

“No one is above my word,” Sigan cawed, hunching over even more. His hair was tinged with grey and his face heavily wrinkled, but he looked far from an old man. Power seemed to gather around him and the crackle of magic was almost visible in his shadow.

“Laziness is not tolerated in my lands; you will be put to work under the Sidhe.” The man who was being sentenced wailed and Arthur knew why. The Sidhe were vicious creatures, the kind to wear a man down to the bone and not care. They went through mortal-folk like a blacksmith went through metalwork and were a whole lot messier. It wasn’t a direct order for execution, but it was as good as.

Arthur listened to three more sentences, all harmless crimes that had been committed and all severe punishments. Though they were not outright executions, the tasks given to each of the people would cause them death. It was, Arthur supposed, the way that Sigan justified his law. He didn’t bloody his hands, but those who disobeyed rules were still dealt with.

And then it was his turn. He was pushed forward and brought to his knees, the crime of suspected subterfuge and plotting to assassinate the king being his crime. Arthur wanted to fight against it, shout that he had simply been walking in the dark, but Sigan’s cold, glittering eyes forced all words from his chest.

“He will be made an example of,” Sigan announced, rising from his chair. Magicians were at Arthur’s side in an instant, hands locking his shoulders down so he could only just look up at the king.

“I fear people are growing complacent. An example must be made and a clear message sent to those who covet my throne.” Sigan pointed a shaky finger at Arthur, voice crisp and cold as he spoke. “You will face execution.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath at the sentence. Arthur could tell that outright execution was rare for Sigan to announce, yet it seemed to become his fate. He swallowed thickly, wondering what would become of him when he was dead. It wasn’t as if there was a mother or father to tell, only Elyan back at the smithy and it was unlikely anyone would bother to tell him. Elyan would think him a deserter, never know the truth, and that hurt more than the fact that Arthur was to be killed.

Perhaps it hadn’t sunk in.

“You can take the other criminals down below, we will have an execution right now!” Sigan roared, stomping his foot on the ground in the perfect image of an unruly child. “Announce it to the public-”

“My lord,” a voice interrupted and Arthur blinked. Whoever it was had the audacity to interrupt the king and yet it wasn’t quite why Arthur had startled. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Emrys,” the king growled, sounding more like a warning than a name. “We all know you have a certain fondness for the inferiors, but my judgment on this one is absolute.”

Out of the shadows strode a man in robes completely different to any Arthur had seen before. All magicians were allowed robes of blue or black, all embroidered with silver runes. This man though wore almost the opposite. His robes were a crimson red and Arthur, even with distance between them, could see that the runes were stitched with gold thread. Who exactly was this Emrys that he could defy all of the king’s laws and yet still be held in such a high position?

“Perhaps I do hold them in a different light to you, my lord,” Emrys said, bowing his head to the king. “But I believe this man is more important than he seems.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the words, ignoring the ache in his shoulders as the magicians around him tightened their grip.

“I believe there is a pendant around his neck, identical to the one I have worn since I was a child.” Emrys fumbled under his robes for a moment, pulling a cord out. Though he was turned away from Arthur, Arthur saw that it was vaguely coin-shaped and a knot tightened in his stomach. It wasn’t his pendant for he could feel the metal of his coin against his chest, but it wasn’t merely a coincidence that this Emrys had a pendant like his.

“And what is the meaning of this pendant?” Sigan asked, eyes narrowed as he handed the coin back to Emrys. “It’s a simple trinket.”

Emrys turned to look at Arthur and Arthur’s heart froze in his chest. It was Merlin staring back at him, the very man he’d left sleeping soundly in their home, the very man he’d trusted enough to share his dreams and fears with. Betrayal curled in Arthur’s throat and left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he remained still. Whatever Emrys - Merlin - was playing at, he wasn’t about to let on that he knew him.

No one wanted to die, after all, and Arthur was no exception.

“It may appear a simple trinket,” Merlin was saying, “but it is in fact an old artifact from the tomb of Ashkanar. I want to know why he has it.”

Merlin didn’t waver even as Sigan stared him down, beady eyes focused solely on him. Arthur could tell that there was a bigger fight going on than what appeared and from the way the other magicians held themselves, Arthur began to suspect that magic was being used.

“Fine,” Sigan announced a moment later. “But he is your responsibility. If he puts even a toe out of line, no manner of persuasion will convince me to let him escape the axe.”

Arthur didn’t move as Sigan sat down heavily in his throne. The king gripped the edges of his throne and Arthur knew he was watching Merlin as he walked towards Arthur.

“Release him,” Merlin said, voice colder than Arthur could ever remember it. “We will be going now.”

The magicians holding Arthur released him at once and Arthur rose. Merlin’s hand immediately clasped around his wrist, surprisingly strong as he pulled him away from the court, leaving through a small door. Sigan was calling the next prisoner up as the door closed behind them, but Merlin didn’t slow down.

Arthur let himself be led through the castle in silence, the only sound their feet pounding on the stone floor. He could feel Merlin’s anger rolling off of him, but Arthur didn’t understand why. Merlin had no reason to be angry - he was the one who had lied after all.

They must have been in the very corner of the castle by the time they reached a tower. Merlin began climbing it, still dragging Arthur, until they reached the top, where a closed door sat. Merlin opened it without moving, simply whispering a slippery, fluid word under his tongue and letting his magic do the work for him.

An old man blinked in surprise, looking up from where he’d been working on a steaming concoction. He raised an eyebrow as Merlin stormed through, eyes widening when he saw Arthur.

“Lady Morgana asked me to visit her. I shall be gone a while,” the old man said, grabbing a physician’s bag and leaving the room. The door shut with a firm click behind him and Merlin finally let go of Arthur's arm.

“What were you thinking?” was the first thing that escaped Merlin’s mouth, anger in his tone. “To go sneaking off last night? Why couldn’t you just have waited - I told you we could look for her together!”

Arthur shook his head and scoffed.

“You expect me to trust you now? When you’re a magician?” Arthur’s voice was incredulous, but Merlin wasn’t ready to give up.

“I’m not one of Sigan’s magicians,” he spat venomously. “Before the War, no one was a magician. It’s the title Sigan gave to those he’s enslaved so it seems like a pretty title instead of 'prisoner'.” Merlin’s chest was heaving and there was an ugly look on his face.

“If I’d said I could use magic, you would have thought I was Sigan’s man. Everyone would have assumed I was his man because no one knows that magic used to be free and no one knows what a tyrant Sigan is, even to his own kind!” Merlin paused and Arthur shook his head, cruel smile on his face.

“Are you sure you want to be called a traitor to your king? Your lord?” he spat in reply. Betrayal was rooted deep inside of Arthur now and he couldn’t remember the Merlin he’d entered Camelot with, the Merlin he’d shared his bed with and the Merlin that he had come to love.

“Sigan is not my king,” Merlin countered, voice low. Arthur paused then, startled by the honesty in his voice, and sank onto a nearby bench, feeling that the conversation was about to take an even more uncomfortable turn.

“I am not one of his magicians. The name given to those with magic before Sigan started his war was sorcerer and sorceress. The only ones in the land who use these names are the druids and if Sigan ever caught one of them, they would be slaughtered as quickly as possible.” Merlin’s face was bitter and it knocked the words from Arthur’s chest.

“I wouldn’t even be in Camelot if the druids had not come to my village.” Merlin snorted, pacing like a caged animal. “I was born with my magic, born with more power than any of these magicians, than the king even.”

“Careful,” Arthur muttered, looking around upon instinct. No matter how powerful Merlin thought he was, Sigan was still the king and he would still punish a traitor. Merlin was being careless, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I would never have come here, upon anyone’s orders, if I didn’t think I could help those suffering.” Merlin gritted his teeth, looking down at the floor as if considering whether to tell Arthur something.

“Not a single one of those so-called criminals is going to die,” he said softly, as if the fight had drained from him entirely. Arthur looked at Merlin sharply, opening his mouth to speak.

“None of the ones that Sigan sentences die. That’s the reason I’m here; I get them out of the city.” Merlin sat down on one of the benches opposite Arthur, hanging his head down.

“I’m not destined to be a king,” Merlin said. “In fact, no magic-user should be king. Sigan is a fool to think he can command the throne for much longer and that is why he called me to Camelot.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You mean to say he’s afraid of you?”

Instead of Merlin shaking his head, Arthur was surprised to meet blue eyes as Merlin looked up. He looked so old and so weary then and, despite the betrayal and sting of hurt still lingering in his chest, Arthur wanted to reach out to him and pull him close.

“The name by which I am called by those with magic is a name of power. I’ve had stories written about me for centuries, poets heralding the time of peace that I will help to bring about.” Merlin sighed.

“But you’re not to be king,” Arthur countered. “That’s what you said.”

“I’m not,” confirmed Merlin. “I was told that I would be able to find the rightful king in Camelot. Together, we will unite Albion and free the land from the cruelty Sigan has inflicted.”

Merlin inched forward slightly, looking at Arthur. “The magicians are running unchecked. Those who follow Sigan’s teachings have grown more cruel and act with less restraint, but those who have hearts, those who are willing to accept those who were not born with magic, are beginning to question his leadership.”

It was amazing what Merlin had accomplished in just over a week. They hadn’t arrived in Camelot that long ago and yet Merlin had already organised what seemed like his entire life, all because of his destiny.

“You should have told me,” Arthur muttered, the argument feeling flat against everything else that had been said. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he was angry and hurt after Merlin’s actions.

“I know,” Merlin replied, voice quiet. “I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just-“ he broke off, looking everywhere but Arthur.

“Just?” Arthur asked, eyebrows drawing together.

“Just that I didn’t want to lose you.” Merlin pulled a face, scrunching his eyebrows up for a moment, before he spoke again. “I would have told you, eventually,” he said. “But you had it in your head that you’re inferior to magic-users and if I’d told you…”

Arthur swallowed thickly. He nodded his head, understanding now – not that it eased the pain. But he could look Merlin in the face now, could see a time when he would be able to trust him again, which was something good.

“Okay,” he said, breathing the word out. “And you wanted to ask me about the pendant?” Arthur pulled the coin out from under his clothes, looking at Merlin’s chest to try and see how similar the pendants were.

“Pendant?” Merlin said, eyes narrowed in confusion. He looked at the coin in Arthur’s hand and raised his eyebrows, smiling.

“Oh, the pendant.” Merlin gave a slight chuckle. “I only needed to get you away from Sigan. There wasn’t really a pendant around my neck; I’d seen yours and thought it best to duplicate it and say it belonged to Ashkanar.” Merlin slipped a secretive smile on his face. “Where Sigan is concerned, anything from Ashkanar is a mystery and wonder. It’s a little predictable, but understandable. The tomb is laced with mystery and wonder – they even say a dragon’s egg lays there.”

Arthur shook his head in mild amusement and tucked Elyan’s pendant back under his clothes.

“So you’re here to usurp the throne with a random mortal-man and to free those who are sentenced to death?” Arthur summarised, leaning back against the table and stretching his legs out.

“Not only the ones who are sentenced to death,” Merlin corrected gently, mirroring Arthur’s relaxed position. “I’m about to make the rounds, if you’d like to come with me. I usually wait for Gaius, but if he’s with Morgana…”

Even though the old man – assumingly Gaius – had said it before, the name only just registered.

“Morgana?” Arthur asked and Merlin nodded slowly. “Her maid – does she have a maid?”

Merlin looked confused for a moment before the penny dropped and his mouth dropped open slightly, lips forming a perfect circle.

“Your Guinevere?” he asked, bobbing his head. “She’s Gwen to us, but I know she is the daughter of a blacksmith.”

“Is she okay?” Arthur questioned, needing to know if he was too late.

“Perhaps a bit overworked,” Merlin said. “But I saw her yesterday and she was fine. Sigan’s been keeping a close eye on Morgana lately though so it’s not really a surprise Gwen is lying low.”

Everyone knew that Morgana was the first woman of court. Rumours spread throughout the land that Sigan kept her in court in hopes that she would marry him and sire him an heir, but that the king’s hopes were dashed. Morgana was a cunning woman yet she had never accepted the king, despite her powers and what good it would do for her.

“But she is a magician-“ Arthur began, but Merlin shook his head.

“She has magic,” he corrected, shifting so that he was resting his elbows on his knees. “She never took Sigan’s oath and rejected every mention he made of it to her.” Merlin gave a wry grin. “She’s a powerful seer and it kills Sigan that she won’t obey him, so he keeps her locked up. Of course now that I’m at court, anyone who hasn’t sworn an oath to the magicians is looked upon with scrutiny in case their allegiance wanders.”

Arthur felt Merlin’s gaze rest on him for a moment. He looked thoughtful, but shook his head a second later.

“Come on. We have appointments to keep and while most of them would be happy to grant us time, the Sidhe are very particular about these things.” Merlin stood, robes swirling around his ankles. He gave Arthur a quick glance over, muttered a quick apology and then hissed out his magic-words.

Startled, Arthur looked down as a strange shudder came over him. His clothes had smoothed out and the dirt had been removed from his body.

“The quickest way,” Merlin said, ducking his head in apology. “It’s not the same as a proper clean, but it’s better than nothing.”

Arthur rose slowly, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore how nice the magic had felt. He couldn’t get used to it after all, he was just a mortal-man while Merlin was a magici-a sorcerer, Arthur corrected himself.

“You can stay here if you’d prefer,” Merlin said, sounding reluctant.

Arthur smiled. “I’d rather come with you,” he said. “It’s better than sitting around doing nothing, even if I don’t have magic.”

The smile Merlin shot him was wide and the echo of the Merlin he’d met on the road. Camelot had made him lose some of his innocence, but it was still there, still shining through, and Arthur came to stand beside him, bumping shoulders.

They left the tower and Merlin began describing the castle as they moved through it. Even though those they passed bowed stiffly to Merlin and simply glared at Arthur, Camelot felt welcome in its very foundations. It felt right to walk down these halls, even though he was nothing more than a pest to Sigan.

“Our first stop is the stables,” Merlin said as they exited out onto the courtyard. Magicians milled about, but they all stopped to incline their heads as Merlin passed, and Arthur realised what it meant to be powerful in Sigan’s court.

The stables were bustling with activity. Both robed magicians and mortal-folk worked here, milling about comfortably and some even talking to each other. They all stilled for a moment when Merlin entered, but all relaxed a second later, recognising Merlin as a friend rather than foe.

“Ah, Merlin!” a warm voice greeted and Arthur turned to see a man in dark clothing. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, too, Leon,” Merlin replied, clasping the man’s arm with a smile. “This is my friend, Arthur. He’ll be helping me instead of Gaius today.”

Leon offered his arm to Arthur, clasping it as tightly as he had Merlin’s. Even though he didn’t know a thing about Leon, Arthur felt as though he was a good man and he could trust him.

“They’re waiting for you,” Leon said, gesturing into the stables and through to the back. “In the king’s stall; his horse is out at pasture.”

Merlin nodded, though the words didn’t quite make sense to Arthur. He thanked Leon and nodded to Arthur before walking forwards, heading for the king’s stall.

“The druids marked me with the sign of the triskelion,” Merlin said and Arthur thought back to the swirled symbol he’d seen on Merlin’s chest. “It allows me to connect to them and send people to them – which is how I help to save those that Sigan sentences to death.”

He looked grim and Arthur reached for his hand, catching Merlin’s fingers and squeezing them gently. Yes, they had their issues, and yes, Merlin had lied to him, but he was still Merlin. He wanted to save these people and the bit of Arthur that had already fallen for him thumped wildly in his chest.

“Gaius usually comes with me and acts as an anchor, but you’re going to take his place.” Merlin stopped, hand on the bolt that would lead them to the king’s horses. “Unless you don’t want to,” he said, sounding unsure.

With a slight laugh, Arthur shook his head. “You really are an idiot at times,” he commented fondly. “I want to help in anyway I can, even though I might not have an ounce of magic in me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Merlin said casually as he opened the door. “I mean we’re all the same, right?”

Arthur nodded, not quite sure where this was headed.

“Well,” Merlin continued, “then I’m sure even the dullest of non-magical people has some spark inside of them.” They came to a stop outside the largest stall, the door bolted up completely. “And you’re far from being dull.”

There was no time to reply as Merlin unlocked the door, flicking his wrist casually and letting it swing open. Five people were crouched in the dark of the stable, huddled together. They startled like wild animals as Merlin stepped inside, looking at their escape to freedom for one moment before huddling back together.

Sigan had turned them into animals. These people, who had probably done no more than step outside when it was dark or bought an item that was deemed suspicious, had been reduced to shivering wrecks, too scared even to try and make a break for freedom.

“I’m Merlin,” Merlin announced softly, crouching down in the straw. “And this is Arthur.”

Merlin patted the straw beside him as he shifted to sitting and Arthur joined him.

“You were sent here by the king weren’t you?” Merlin asked softly, receiving only one or two nods. All eyes were fixed on him though, none of them hopeful. It was as if they had lost all hope of finding someone good, someone decent, and Arthur almost smiled. He knew the truth – that these people would be helped.

“You know why, don’t you?” Merlin continued and he waited patiently.

“Because we committed a crime,” someone said, a man judging by the tone. “And we’ve received our punishment.”

But Merlin shook his head, leaning forwards.

“You’re here because you are innocent people that Sigan simply wants to be rid of. It’s no secret that this is the same as execution, only with the benefit for Sigan that his hands remain clean.” Surprise and shock filled the air and Arthur couldn’t hold the smile. These people had been treated like dirt and yet here they were, regaining hope all thanks to Merlin.

“You can’t stay in Camelot and you probably wouldn’t want to with what’s coming.” Merlin sighed. “Sigan won’t be king for much longer. There are more powerful forces at work and they will tear his regime apart. The people of Albion will be united under the Once and Future King and that king can never be Sigan.”

Arthur could see the hope now, shining in the depths of the captive’s eyes.

“I’m going to use my magic to send you to the druids. They will look after you until it’s safe to return to Camelot. Sigan will assume you have been dealt with according to his laws and you will be able to live in freedom until the time when everyone can.” Merlin turned to Arthur, slipping a hand under the collar of his tunic. Arthur startled, staring incredulously at Merlin as he fumbled under his clothes.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed, but Merlin’s fingers curled around something and he brought the pendant out for all to see.

”Sorry,” he muttered, as if it had only just occurred to him that shoving his hand down Arthur shirt was inappropriate. “I need to put some of my magic in this so that you can keep me here.”

Not bothering to ask what exactly that meant, Arthur let Merlin carry on. He covered the coin with his hand and muttered a single word, “hwierfe.”

Merlin’s eyes blazed golden and Arthur felt the magic pass through the coin, into the string of the pendant and into his skin. It was warm and comforting and he was saddened when it waned, the spell having taken effect.

“I transferred some of my magic into the coin,” Merlin explained, letting the coin fall onto Arthur’s chest. It flipped, spinning to the dragon that marked tails. “It’ll help to keep me rooted here when I perform the spell.”

Merlin turned to the others, smiling widely.

“I need you to form a circle around us. The druids will be expecting you and they'll get you settled as soon as you arrive.” He paused, wrinkling his nose as they were circled. “You might feel a little sick, but that’s normal.”

The captives formed a tight circle, linking hands upon Merlin’s orders. Merlin in turn took Arthur’s hand, threading their fingers together with a smile.

“You will feel my magic and you need to relax. Only then can you be transported to the druids.” Merlin took a deep breath and began muttering under his breath, too quiet for the words to be distinguishable. Arthur could feel the power though and it pulled at him, making him gasp for breath.

On the ground, markings began appearing, spiraling from Merlin and glowing with golden magic. They branched out until they formed a perfect circle around the captives, magic then springing up from the ground and curling over their feet, up their legs and on until it covered them completely.

“Síþ!” Merlin said, voice deep and booming. The magic sprang to life around them, glittering as the earth itself shifted, wind rising up to pull at them all. Arthur could feel Merlin’s grip lessen so he moved his other hand to grip Merlin’s wrist, willing him to stay while the others went.

The world went white, magic blinding Arthur, and, for a terrible moment, he thought that he’d lost Merlin. The light cleared, magic seeping back into the ground and crumpling back up and Arthur felt Merlin’s hand clutch at his, twitching as the magic returned to its owner.

When the light finally faded, all that was left was a circle of scorched straw and Merlin breathing heavily, hand still clinging tightly to Arthur’s. The captives had been transported successfully and the victory tasted sweet to Arthur.

“You did it,” he whispered, amazed by the show of magic that Merlin had displayed. “You really did it.”

Merlin opened his eyes, nodding meekly. “It takes a lot out of me, but it’s worth it. They’re safe and Sigan’s a little closer to being toppled off his perch.”

At Arthur’s bewildered look, Merlin drew a little closer.

“Haven’t you ever noticed he resembles a rather shabby looking crow?” he said conspiratorially, and Arthur laughed, shaking his head. No matter how powerful or the nature of his destiny, it seemed that Merlin was still the same old Merlin.

“The first thing that crossed my mind actually,” Arthur muttered, causing Merlin to chuckle in response.

A knock on the door interrupted them and Merlin let his hands slide from Arthur’s, calling out for the door to be opened. It was Leon, armed with a fork and a wheelbarrow of straw.

“Here to clear the evidence,” he said with a smile, and Merlin nodded.

“Thanks, Leon,” he said and turned to Arthur. “There are a few more places we need to visit,” Merlin said and Arthur nodded, letting himself be led from the stables with a friendly farewell to Leon.

The places turned out to be a dingy corner of the market place, a small mine just outside of the city, and, lastly, a lake.

“There’s no one here,” Arthur said, stumbling over a tree root and bumping into Merlin. He frowned, but Merlin simply laughed, plucking leaves from his hair.

They’d had to walk through dense woodland growth, and while Merlin knew it by heart and therefore knew where to duck, Arthur hadn’t had that foresight and ended up with what felt like an entire tree in his hair.

Though he worked methodically to pluck the leaves out, Merlin’s hands were gentle. His fingers brushed against Arthur’s scalp every now and then and Arthur found himself leaning into the touch, savouring the closeness he hadn’t felt since the night they’d shared a bed.

“We'd best hurry,” Merlin said softly a moment later, hands still buried in Arthur’s hair. “The Sidhe aren’t well known for their patience.”

The lake was beautiful and blue lights flickered above the water. At the edge sat a group of people, just like every other area they’d been to.

“The elder will come to speak with us,” Merlin said quietly, eyes flashing as he called out to the Sidhe. Time seemed to slow and the blue lights became visible to Arthur’s eye, tiny little creatures that flitted on the surface water.

“Emrys,” a voice said and a Sidhe elder came to the very edge of the lake. “Have you not yet taken the kingdom?”

The creature’s voice was mocking and his gaze came to rest on Arthur.

“I’m not going to take the kingdom,” Merlin replied in a tone that suggested they’d had this conversation more than once.

“No?” the elder said, eyes still pinned to Arthur. “But you are close, are you not?”

Merlin didn’t reply and Arthur looked at him. He was staring at the Sidhe with eyes slightly narrowed, as if he was trying to understand what he had said.

“You may take the humans,” the Sidhe said, sounding bored. “But I feel that you will have no need for this much longer.”

Again, Merlin didn’t bother to reply. He simply led Arthur over to the group of people and began the routine of transferring them to the druid camp. Even though he was tired – and Arthur could see the tiredness seeping off of him – the magic still flared as bright and powerful as the first time, and Arthur still felt Merlin’s magic spread through his body, warming him completely.

After the ritual had been completed, Merlin gave a tired smile to Arthur and looked over the lake. The Sidhe elder was still there, but Merlin looked surprised to see him and Arthur assumed this wasn’t an every day occurrence.

“What-?” Merlin began, but the elder ignored him, cutting into his words.

“It is not often that one without magic sets eyes on us,” the Sidhe said to Arthur. “In fact, you could well be the first.” He turned and smiled to Merlin, unfriendly and full of sharp teeth. “Usually we’d devour those with no magic.”

Arthur swallowed thickly and moved closer to Merlin. He was no coward, but he didn’t like his chances against these odd creatures and Merlin was experienced in dealing with them.

“But you are different, Arthur.” Even Merlin started as the Sidhe spoke Arthur’s name and he looked at them, pinning the creature with golden eyes.

“How do you know his name?” he asked, voice furious. The Sidhe laughed, shaking his head.

“Why should I tell you, Emrys? We would have eaten the humans you secreted away to the druids if you had not cast a spell forbidding us. We don’t owe you anything.” The Sidhe looked at Arthur once more, as if considering him.

“Your old companion will know. Ask him about the rightful heir and the king that Sigan wrestled off of the throne. Only once you know that will you understand why we know Arthur’s name.” The Sidhe gave a gravely laugh and Merlin released it and it shot off across the lake, joining the countless others of its kind.

Merlin practically launched himself away from the lake, taking deep strides though the undergrowth. Arthur ran a few paces to catch up, not understanding why Merlin was reacting so strangely.

“Merlin!” he called, slowing to a walk and refusing to run anymore. Whatever Merlin’s problem was, if he wanted Arthur to walk back with him then he could attempt a decent pace.

As Arthur’s voice broke the silence of the evening, Merlin stopped and turned to face him. Though he looked serious, his voice was entirely apologetic and he slowed slightly, letting his arm swing in time with Arthur’s, wrists bumping every now and again.

“Gaius,” Arthur said a moment later as they reached the gates to Camelot. They swung open as magicians saw Merlin’s robes and they walked through without incident. “That’s the old physician’s name?”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, nodding his head. “He’s a good friend; he knew my mother and my father. I wouldn’t have come to Camelot if I hadn’t at least one friend here.” He smiled, knocking his knuckles to Arthur’s hand. Arthur smiled in return and nodded in understanding.

“I think that’s why I was happy to accept Elyan’s task. Gwen is his sister so it’s like I know her, even though I’ve never met her before.” Arthur shrugged. “It seems a bit stupid otherwise, traveling to Camelot just to see if someone is okay.”

Merlin gave a noise of uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think it’s admirable that you’d do that for a stranger. It’s a difficult world, even you had to know that with your sheltered views, and you’ve done a brave thing.”

Scoffing lightly, Arthur shook his head.

“I’ve always wanted to know more,” he admitted, opening up to Merlin as he had when Merlin was just another mortal-man. “I was fixed on the War of Dragons when I was a child. I don’t know why, but it was important.”

They entered the castle and Merlin began leading them to his tower.

“It’s a monumental moment in history. A king was ripped from his throne and Sigan stepped in, shackling non-magical people in the process. His tyranny didn’t start straight away, but it’s not as if it wasn’t there.” Merlin spoke softly, voice only for Arthur’s ears.

“Could he really control the dragons?” Arthur asked, feeling a child of six and devouring all the fairy tales he could get his hands on. He’d always been fixated on dragons, like many mortal-children, but he hated to think of them shackled by Sigan.

“Sigan?” Merlin asked, incredulously. “He couldn’t even control a wyvern, let alone a dragon. The dragons were largely on the side of mortal-men, the old king being close friends with a number of Dragonlords. Of course, some turned on them and joined Sigan, but I’ve always thought the war was poorly named.”

All the books Arthur had scrounged and all the information he’d gathered shattered. In only a few sentences Merlin had reshaped the way the war had panned out, a war that Arthur had spent his entire childhood trying to grasp and understand.

Merlin was right; Arthur really didn’t know anything at all.

“My grandfather sided with the king of course. He died along with the dragon who had decided to fight alongside him, but the power was passed to my father. My grandmother was able to get herself out of Camelot and moved to Ealdor where she raised my father and taught him all about dragons. Of course by the time he was old enough to talk to them, they’d mostly gone off to hide in the mountains and the one he’d called down… well I’d rather he hadn’t.” Merlin rolled his eyes, ignoring Arthur’s reaction completely.

“Kilgharrah’s nice and all, when he wants to be, but get him quoting prophecies and you’ll be stuck there for days.” Merlin’s mouth twisted. “I’m not joking either. When I was finally allowed to leave, I was so hungry I had to crawl home.”

It was then that Merlin turned to Arthur and his eyes widened.

“Arthur?” he asked, stopping completely. They were at the base of the tower now, but Arthur was simply staring at Merlin.

“You’re a Dragonlord?” he asked, voice hushed yet full of joy.

“Well,” Merlin began. “My father is. I won’t inherit his power until he dies, but I can talk to the dragons.” He shot Arthur a smile. “I’ll introduce you to some when I can.”

Arthur smiled and clasped Merlin’s shoulder gratefully. “Thank you,” he said as they began climbing, and Merlin nodded in return.

Gaius was in the room when they entered and, like the first time, he spun round and looked at them with a strange expression on his face.

“Merlin,” he said, voice flat. “And…”

“Arthur,” Arthur said, filling in the awkward pause. “I’m Merlin’s friend.”

Gaius arched an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with Arthur’s explanation. He set something down on the table before turning to Merlin and raising his eyebrow a little more.

“We can explain later,” Merlin said, sitting down on the bench opposite where Gaius was working. “But the Sidhe just said some interesting things that we want to discuss with you.”

At those words, Gaius sat down and nodded, clearly impatient to get back to whatever he’d been doing.

“The Sidhe elder knew Arthur’s name. He wouldn’t tell us why, but said that we should ask you about the king Sigan usurped and his heir.” Gaius started at the news, eyes flickering to Arthur with something akin to horror.

“Gaius?” Merlin questioned, worry clear in his tone. Gaius simply shook his head and looked down, sighing heavily. He was shouldering some heavy secrets, even Arthur could tell.

“As you know, Merlin, I have been serving in this court for years. I was a young lad when Sigan took the throne, but I still remember it.” Gaius looked at Arthur for a long moment before returning his gaze to Merlin and beginning his story.

“Sigan came to the court of Camelot as a friend seeking aid. He claimed that his home had been attacked and king Anlawd welcomed him. He and his wife played host to the sorcerer, allowing him a prolonged stay and enjoying his company.” Gaius smiled a little. “Sigan was kind in those days, even though they were perhaps not his true colours.”

Arthur found himself nodding to the story, entranced by the words.

“Some accounts say that Anlawd and his queen offended Sigan and others say that Sigan went into a rage all by himself. I cannot recall how it happened, but one day Sigan tore the kingdom apart.” Gaius shook his head, expression grave. “He ordered the Dragonlords he’d turned against their king to attack the land until Sigan was given complete control. So many people died, those with magic and those without.”

He paused for a moment and Arthur looked away respectfully. It had to be a hard story to tell and he’d never once thought that he would be hearing of the War of Dragons from a first hand account.

“Anlawd escaped the attacks, strangely enough. He was secreted away because of his power – he was the king and the people needed his safety. Everyone knew it was a battle only Sigan could win, but Anlawd’s advisors were smart enough to recognise that they needed to protect the bloodline.” Gaius gave a tight smile, eyes flicking to Arthur.

“On the journey though, they were ambushed. Anlawd’s only son and heir was killed, cut down by Sigan himself.” Gaius shook his head, shaking the terrible hopelessness that he must have felt. “Sigan also killed the king there and then, but he made a terrible mistake.”

A smile found its way onto Gaius’ face and Arthur knew that it wasn’t a terrible mistake at all. He moved forward a little more, just as he felt Merlin doing, wanting to know more and more.

“The queen was with child and she managed to get to safety. It was a healthy babe and she named it with its royal birthright, giving the child the name of Ygraine Du Bois.” Gaius glanced at them, searching both Merlin and Arthur for a reaction.

“I met Ygraine, years ago now. She was a kind woman, beautiful and willing to listen to all.” Gaius sobered a little, brow creasing. “She would have made a wonderful queen, especially considering her choice in husband.”

Again, Gaius looked at Arthur and he tilted his chin.

“Unlike almost all royal matches, Ygraine married for love. I met her after her marriage and I had never seen a happier bride. They were both full of life, young and had so many ideas.” Gaius smiled, remembering old and lost friends.

“They were young and wasted no time in securing an heir. No doubt they would have raised the child wonderfully had they not gone against Sigan.” Arthur’s stomach dropped, knowing that there would be no happy ending for the young couple who had been Gaius’ friends.

“Your father joined them,” Gaius said, looking at Merlin. “He formed a group with other Dragonlords and they succeeded in rooting out Sigan’s traitors. The dragons that had been used in the war were freed from the bonds forced on them and fled for the White Mountains while Sigan’s Dragonlords were killed.”

Merlin nodded, already privy to the battle his father had been in.

“Those who joined by foot had been creating a distraction to draw Sigan away from the Dragonlords. It worked, but no one realised that the rightful queen and her husband had joined them until it was too late. Hardly anyone survived that mission and those that had wished to die.” Gaius shuddered. “Sigan plays with magic too dark for most to even consider; I would never wish such a thing even on my most dreadful of enemies.”

Arthur couldn’t imagine the same power that Merlin had brushed against him could ever be tainted so much by one man’s hands. Merlin echoed Gaius’ shudder and Arthur wondered whether he’d felt that dark magic too or simply hated the idea that it could be twisted so much.

“Of course, the legacy lived on, but the child was still a young baby. The decision was made to raise him away from Camelot and the ongoing struggle with the druids, to take him away from Sigan’s cruelty and, at the same time, Sigan’s watch.” Gaius took a deep breath, the air shuddering in his throat.

“When they married, Ygraine’s husband took her name as she was the rightful heir to the throne and he was a common man. A great fighter and perfect for the role of a king, but still had been born a common man.” Gaius looked at Arthur and then at his hands.

“His name was Uther Pendragon and the name given to their only son and heir was-“

“Arthur,” Arthur said, eyes wide. Gaius nodded and Arthur felt panic creep into his chest, forcing his breathing to become shallow and quick.

Even though he’d been raised in an orphanage, Arthur had always had a second name. Not many of the other children in the orphanage had and some days Arthur had been convinced that he’d just made it up, but he’d always been Arthur Pendragon. As years passed, he had dropped his surname simply because he was mortal and unimportant, but he had never forgotten it.

“When I first saw you, I had my suspicions. You do, after all, look remarkably like Ygraine.” Gaius’ voice was fond and Arthur was touched that all the warmth was directed at him.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur asked steadily if he could be alone for a moment and Gaius nodded, pointing to a small room at the end, up some stairs. He nodded stiffly, not looking at anything but the door, and walked to the room.

  
**.**   


Inside was a small bed and endless amounts of bundled herbs. It was a cosy room and reminded Arthur of his home and life before Camelot.

It was a while before the door opened, and Arthur was lying on the bed, face buried in the pillows. A chair was scraped across the floor so that it could be placed beside the bed and Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin.

“My parents were good people,” he said, shooting Merlin a small smile. “When you don’t know them, that’s what you hope. It’s different knowing it’s the truth.”

With a terrible thud that must have hurt, Merlin slipped from the chair and came down on his knees, reaching for Arthur’s hand and holding it tightly. There was an unspeakable emotion glittering in his eyes and it made Arthur roll over onto his side and sit up, Merlin’s hand still warm in his own.

“What does this mean for you?” Arthur asked, watching Merlin carefully.

He didn’t know what he would do if Merlin was disappointed in the revelation that he was the heir. It was that fact that wracked at Arthur more than the truth itself; he didn’t care for his title or birthright, not if it meant Merlin would grow to hate him. What if Arthur wasn’t the king Merlin had been expecting? He wasn’t wise, he had no experience, and he was hardly sure he could lead a smithy, let alone an entire kingdom.

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted, but he was still smiling and he rubbed his thumb over Arthur’s hand. “On one hand, I don’t think there could be a better man for king than you.”

Arthur frowned and opened his mouth to correct Merlin, but Merlin silenced him with a smile.

“It’s true. You’ve come a long way since we met in that tavern. I see a great leader inside of you, no matter how convinced you are that there isn’t one.” Merlin paused, closing his eyes tightly for a moment.

“I want…” he started, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t let myself want more, with you,” he said, words slightly stilted. “I had to be loyal to the rightful king, no matter what my heart wanted.”

As the words escaped, Merlin flushed slightly, not meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“Which leads me to the other thing I wanted to say,” he rushed on, though he kept his hand in Arthur’s. “You being king,” he swallowed and Arthur prepared for the worst. “It scares me. Sigan is ruthless and if he can kill you, he will. I don’t…” Merlin frowned and Arthur shifted closer, wanting to wrap his arms around him and comfort him.

“I don’t think I could stand to lose you,” Merlin said finally, the words barely more than a whisper.

Arthur did pull him closer then, letting Merlin slide onto the small bed with him. He wrapped his arms around Merlin, burying his head in Merlin’s neck and holding him tight. Merlin, in turn, held him close and they stayed like that for what could have been hours, content to listen to each other’s hearts and breathing.

It was a while before they stirred and it was Arthur who spoke.

“I know I’m supposed to be the heir to the throne and help unite the land with you, but I’m still just Arthur.” Merlin looked at him curiously, hair tousled. “Your Arthur,” Arthur continued, giving a tentative, little smile. “If you’d have me.”

Though it was little more than a brush of lips, Merlin bent forward slightly and kissed him. Arthur had never been kissed so tenderly before, never had the opportunity to form a proper bond with anyone and let them so close, and though it was a small kiss, it was more meaningful than any other Arthur had felt.

“I want you,” Merlin whispered, lips wet against Arthur’s. “So much, I’ve wanted you...” he trailed off with another kiss, this time pressing harder and slipping his body closer. He rose from the floor until he was straddling Arthur, making no effort to hide his half-hard cock.

Merlin pushed his hips down, licking at the corner of Arthur’s lips, begging for entrance.

“Sharing that bed with you,” Merlin began between sloppy kisses. “Was hard. I wanted you so badly back there,” he gave a small gasp as Arthur grabbed his hips, pressing him down slightly. Merlin rested his elbows on Arthur’s shoulders and moved back slightly, enough for Arthur to see dark red lips covered in glistening spit.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered, pressing his lips to Merlin’s neck and inhaling sharply, taking in all that he’d wanted in the nights they’d spent in that tiny little shed. “Oh, Merlin.”

Calling his name was enough for Merlin to shed all that he’d been holding back and he pulled at his robes, his shirt underneath and then his trousers, letting Arthur lap at his collar as he did so. His hands came to tangle in Arthur’s hair and Arthur bucked his hips up, rocking against Merlin as he pressed down.

The blanket between them was long gone and Merlin was quick to remove Arthur’s own clothes, eyes glinting in what Arthur wanted to think was candlelight but suspected was magic. He was about to comment to ask whether Merlin was in so much of a hurry he needed to use magic to disrobe him when Merlin’s hand wrapped around his hard length, rubbing his own cock against Arthur’s. Fingers curled against the head of his dick as Merlin kissed him, forcing Arthur to open his mouth and claim him entirely.

Arthur had been with others and with himself, but it had never been like this. Merlin kept moving over their joined cocks as he took Arthur’s other hand, whispering a spell to cover it with lubricant, and Arthur moved his hand to the cleft of Merlin’s arse, seeking entrance as he nipped gently at the skin of Merlin’s neck.

It had never been like this, he thought as Merlin clutched at his back, fucking himself on Arthur’s fingers with a small mewl of delight. For Arthur, he had never felt like this with anyone, felt the rush quite in the way he felt it now or been so focused on his partner before. This wasn’t a fumble in the dark or a quick fuck while he was half-drunk; this was Merlin.

“Fuck,” Arthur hissed as Merlin ran his fingers over the head of his cock, grinning wickedly. He pushed up and off Arthur’s dripping fingers and grasped Arthur’s dick, sinking down without warning.

Arthur slid inside of Merlin with ease, groaning as Merlin adjusted. When he was ready, Merlin kissed Arthur softly, rising and sinking back down slowly, infuriatingly. His head lowered to Arthur’s neck where he made small, wet gasps, still in full control of the pace.

Placing his hands on Merlin’s hips, Arthur stilled him and began to move, angling his hips ever so slightly. Merlin’s cock was leaking between them and a trail of stickiness rubbed against Arthur’s belly. It felt good, though, and he pressed kisses to Merlin’s temple as he hastened the pace, hips pumping as he fucked Merlin.

As he drew closer to coming, Merlin seized Arthur’s head and kissed him deeply. It felt as though he was spilling all his secrets, all his emotions, and Arthur pulled him closer, slowing the pace and pushing into Merlin deeper. Merlin groaned, face scrunching up as his breathing hitched.

“Arthur,” he groaned, grasping tightly to Arthur’s shoulder as he moved. He gasped Arthur’s name again before his body tightened, a shudder passing through him as he came.

At the sight and the feeling of Merlin all around him, Arthur’s belly tightened and he felt his orgasm wrench from him. He closed his eyes, still rocking inside of Merlin, and pressed against the juncture of his neck. This was what he’d wanted, what he’d denied himself from thinking about ever since he’d met Merlin.

“You’re the one,” Merlin whispered, still seated on Arthur’s dick and still smiling. He moved up and out of Arthur’s lap with regret and whispered a spell to clean them. Arthur felt a little saddened that his seed was no longer inside of Merlin, as if it were some bizarre marking ritual, and Merlin simply smiled, kissing him and stating that the night was young.

“But,” Merlin said, pulling back and lying down next to Arthur. “I think I love you,” he said unabashedly, even though they both knew there was nothing to think on.

“Then I think,” Arthur said, rolling Merlin onto his back and planning to make use of the night being young, “I love you too.”

  
**.**   


It was some time later that Arthur woke, a little dazed, but otherwise comfortable. Merlin was wrapped around him, in a bed that was a little smaller than the one they had shared for a week, and Arthur decided two things. One, they’d need a bigger bed to share when all this was over and two, that he never wanted to wake without Merlin beside him.

Just as he was about to wake him, Merlin shot up as if he’d been shocked. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wild and he sprang out of bed, slipping clothes on hurriedly.

“Come on!” Merlin said to Arthur, hopping with one leg in his trousers. “Get up!”

Acting as if he were a man possessed, Merlin hurtled through the small room, throwing Arthur’s clothes back at him and dressing himself. Twice he had to stop, once to turn his shirt the right way around and the second time to swap his boots around. He left his red robes piled on the floor and looked back at Arthur, frowning.

“We have to go now, didn’t you hear?” he said, but Arthur simply shook his head.

“I didn’t hear anything. Are you okay Merlin?” His voice was soft, wondering whether Merlin had been dreaming. “It could have been a dream?”

Merlin’s face clouded for a second before he closed his eyes, smiling slightly.

“You didn’t hear it,” he said and Arthur looked at the clothes in his lap. “It must have been Kilgharrah then.” Merlin looked at him and let out the slightest sigh. “It looks like you’ll be meeting him sooner than I’d promised.”

It took only a short while for Arthur to dress and they left. Gaius was absent - thankfully; Arthur wasn’t sure he could face up to the man in case he’d overheard their earlier activities - and they were able to get out of the castle with ease.

It was night now and, aside from occasional patrols, the streets were empty. When they ducked away from a secondary patrol, Merlin cursed under his breath.

“Should have worn my robes,” he muttered as torches passed them. “Would have made this easier.”

Arthur reached out and squeezed his hand.

“We’ll have to go down to the edge of Camelot. We can get into the tunnels and there’s an exit, if you don’t mind slogging through some water.” Merlin turned to him, eyes bright in the moonlight. “You don’t have to come,” he said, voice low. “I mean, I’d rather you were safe, but I’m not exactly sure what safe is anymore.”

Arthur couldn’t help it and leant forwards, kissing Merlin softly.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “Though if we could pass by our shed, I can get my dagger.”

Merlin looked surprised at the statement, but he led them through the streets and to their shed. Arthur slipped inside and picked up the dragon-hilt dagger, stashing it under his shirt.

As Merlin had said before, they moved to the outskirts of the village, to the most run down parts of the city. It was here that poverty smacked you in the face; patrols didn’t even touch here and people were spilling onto the streets, groaning with sickness or drunkenness, abandoned by the king who had sworn to protect them all.

“Can’t we help them?” Arthur asked, pausing by a group of children huddled together. Merlin looked back over his shoulder and shook his head.

“We are.” He took a few steps back, clasping Arthur’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. “Trust me, when Sigan is off his throne, you will save them all.”

Arthur looked down at the pitiful group and wondered how anyone could turn their back on their people. Sigan didn’t deserve to be called a human - mortal or magical - let alone a king.

“Kilgharrah never summons me,” Merlin began as they walked away. They had no food to spare the children and gold would simply give others cause to harm them. The best thing would be for Arthur to come back, show with actions instead of small gestures.

“I mean,” Merlin amended, “he’s never summoned me when he can avoid it. In the past he only ever called me to detail my destiny or begin teaching me, but never like this.” He frowned as they came to a gate. It was locked, but locks weren’t a problem for Merlin and his eyes flashed golden as he removed it.

“He seemed almost desperate, giving me no choice but to come.” They entered into the tunnel and Merlin created a small orb of blue and white light, letting it hover in front of them.

The only sound around them was their footsteps, and Arthur thought about what had happened that day. He’d discovered that he was more than an ordinary man, discovered that Merlin was more than an ordinary man, and already pledged that he would save the kingdom. He had no idea how or when, but it was a goal that he wanted to achieve, if nothing else.

Arthur thought of Elyan and the other tired-faced men of the smithy. He thought of the grubby children he’d shared an orphanage with, of the pinch-faced women who’d run it. Before now he’d never had reason to question the taxes and Sigan’s rule, but he’d still known that the mortal-folk were lower classed than others.

That wasn’t to say magicians had been unsympathetic to them. Arthur could name magicians who had defied Sigan’s laws to help them - most recently Merlin and others in his memory who had saved mortal children from drowning, used their powers to save grown men and women or even to allow taxes to be lessened, supplementing the gold with their own wages. The world was full of good people, but Sigan was determined to break them all and send them for execution.

Only now, he’d been sending them to the druid camp. Merlin had saved people this week and Arthur knew that others before Emrys had saved them too. How many people out there were willing to peel away from Sigan’s rule and accept a new king?

His mother and father were good people, people who had fought for their future and been proud to die for the world they would one day help to build. They knew that Arthur could succeed them if they’d died, but if Arthur died then there was no Pendragon or Du Bois line to continue. He was the last and the weight of the people rested on his shoulders.

And that was why he had to fight. At the smithy they’d fought each other with wooden swords, something Arthur had done since he was a boy. In fact, there had been a woman who had looked after him when he was young and she’d been the first to press a block of wood in his hand. Her name had been Alice and she’d taught him the basics of fighting and pointed him in the right direction so many times.

That wasn’t to say that Arthur was a good fighter though. He had his share of luck and an even bigger share of being disarmed. He’d never trained with a proper sword before and was under no illusion that he was the world’s greatest swordsman, but he was willing to try.

“What if the dragon doesn’t like me?” Arthur asked. If a dragon didn’t like him, didn’t accept him as heir to the kingdom, then how could the people?

Merlin simply snorted.

“He’s not going to eat you,” he said offhandedly. They had turned down a series of tunnels and come to a free flowing river. It was clear and slow-flowing; the natural reservoir for the town’s water supply.

“To be honest I’m not sure Kilgharrah likes anyone, if that helps. He’s an old dragon, stubborn and a lover of riddles.” Merlin shook his head. “If anything, you’ll be the one who doesn’t like him and that’s absolutely fine. Not many people do, after all.”

The tunnel ended suddenly and Arthur and Merlin emerged from the darkness, stepping into the bright moonlight. Stars twinkled above them merrily and Arthur looked around.

“We’re in a field,” he said, stomping through the river they’d come out in and making his way up the bank to a field. The grass was long, long enough to come up to their waists, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the other occupant in the field.

“You are unprepared,” the dragon said as it stood, towering above Arthur. He’d never imagined that dragons could be so huge, even though they were said to have rivaled mountains.

At the dragon’s words, Arthur swallowed, though he remained still and bold underneath his muzzle. Merlin stood behind him, poised to act if he had to.

“But this is not your battle.” Kilgharrah snorted and warm air surrounded Arthur. “The time for you to fight will come. Believe me when I say your journey to secure the time of Albion will be hard, but it will be worth it.”

The dragon turned to Merlin, looking at him with fondness.

“If it is not Arthur’s fight, then whose is it?” Merlin called.

Kilgharrah looked pleased by the question and sat down, the earth shaking with his bulk.

“It is yours, young warlock. Your job was always to help Arthur to the throne, but it is your destiny to be by his side to create a land of peace and prosperity for all.” The dragon seemed to smile, eyes flickering to Arthur.

“That’s not the only reason why I’ll stay with him,” Merlin retorted, voice firm. The words warmed Arthur and he smiled, looking away from Kilgharrah and to Merlin. He was still looking up at the dragon, but his eyes were bright and determined.

“Then you’ll agree when I say we need to take the young king away from Camelot.” Arthur’s body jolted at the thought. He would have to ride a dragon - something he’d dreamt of since he was a young child - and yet that wasn’t the reason for his reaction.

He couldn’t leave Merlin. And he certainly would not leave his kingdom now.

“Those willing to help Arthur Pendragon take his kingdom have gathered. Dragons and their lords are ready, as are those amongst the druids and magic users who have sworn against Sigan. Even those without powers have sworn and there is an army ready to protect Arthur and take the citadel.” Kilgharrah stood once more, looking down at them from his great height.

“And you agree that Arthur must be kept away from the battle.” The dragon’s voice was grave and Arthur wanted to turn, to see what Merlin’s reaction would be. He refused to leave his people and sit and watch as brave people fought and possibly died in his name. What kind of king was that?

“No,” he said, voice firm and with more determination that anything he’d done before.

Kilgharrah looked at him, eyes practically glowing with surprise, but Arthur could feel Merlin’s smile behind him and it doubled his confidence. This was the right choice, the first one he’d have to make that was for his people.

“I will fight,” he said, squaring his shoulders. Just because it was a dragon telling him what to do wouldn’t make Arthur relent. “For my people and for my friends. I will fight for those who have been persecuted by Sigan and for those who cannot fight.”

Arthur gritted his jaw and clenched the dagger under his shirt.

“If I am to be king then I will act like one from this day forward. I was not born into a royal line and I will not consider myself worthy until Sigan is off of that throne and the people are happy.” Arthur removed the dagger from his belt and held it up to the dragon.

“A friend of mine trusted me with this. It is a dagger that has been passed down through his family and yet I was the one he trusted it to. This represents the people for me, of how they will be trusting me without even knowing me and I refuse to stand by and watch as people sacrifice themselves in my name.” Arthur clutched the sheathed blade, chin tilted as the dragon inspected him.

Kilgharrah looked down even more, eyes narrowed. He snorted, looking past Arthur to Merlin and then over to Camelot.

“But a king cannot fight with a mere dagger,” he said and his gaze shifted to the dagger, plucking it from Arthur’s grip and using magic to bring it to his eye level. “It is a fine dagger, yet such a blade is not suited for a king who wishes to protect his people.”

The dragon seemed to curl in on himself and Arthur heard Merlin swear before he was yanked to the ground. He didn’t have time to ask Merlin what he thought he was doing before a huge plume of fire erupted around them, spewing from Kilgharrah’s maw.

The fire seemed to circle the dagger, remaining in a bubble. It was way above them, too far for it to be harmful, and so Merlin helped Arthur to stand, even as his eyes began to glow golden and he spoke words of the old magic, letting his power join the dragon fire.

The bubble burst and the fire changed into tiny embers, drifting down to the grass. It plunged the field into a strange light, making this ordinary place seem ethereal and part of Avalon.

“The sword’s name is Excalibur,” Kilgharrah said, his magic bringing the dagger-turned-sword back down to Arthur’s hands.

Unexpectedly, the blade was cool and the handle only a little warm. Arthur could still feel the magic pulsing through it and it passed into his hand, flowing through his body. He smiled at the feeling, the energy, and looked at Merlin, thanking him silently.

The sword itself was a thing of beauty. The blade was etched with runes - and he’d have to ask Merlin to translate those later - and the hilt a perfect fit for his hand. It still had the dragon carved on the end of the hilt, a reminder of what it had once been.

“It is only to be used by you,” Kilgharrah said in warning. “In the wrong hands, it could cause terrible destruction.”

The words fell heavily around them and Arthur bowed his head.

“I swear I will be the only one to use Excalibur,” he said, looking down at the glinting sword. “And I swear I will only use her to protect my kingdom and its people.”

“Noble words,” Kilgharrah commented, drawling out the words. “For a fine king, the finest the entire kingdom will ever know.”

Merlin came to stand beside him and, though he had no armour and looked hardly the part, he was ready to defend his people. He had the strength of dragons at his back and Merlin by his side as well as his people surrounding him. He had a cause and, unlike Sigan, he was prepared to fight for his cause, let every single, tiny voice in his kingdom be heard, no matter how much blood and sweat he had to shed.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, meaning the words more than any time he’d said them before. In return, Kilgharrah bent his neck, eyes closing as he bowed respectfully.

“Are you to fight?” Merlin asked, voice quiet and stilted.

“I will join the other dragons, yes,” Kilgharrah replied. “And I promise to protect your father with everything I have.”

Though he still carried the worry, Merlin seemed satisfied with the answer.

“When will they be here?” Merlin asked next, shifting and brushing his hand against Arthur’s.

“They are already here,” Kilgharrah said, smiling. “If we do not act tonight, Sigan will discover Arthur’s heritage and the future of Albion will be lost.”

Strangely, panic didn’t overtake him. Instead, Arthur nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less than tonight to be the night.

For anyone else, perhaps it would have been too much. To find out you’re the heir to a kingdom, confess your feelings to the most powerful sorcerer in the realm, meet a dragon and gain the finest sword in the kingdom, only to find out you would use that sword that very night when you began a rebellion against the crown, was enough to cause anyone to feel ill. Anyone but Arthur.

Excalibur was firm in his hand and Merlin was strong by his side. He had dragons willing to fight, as well as people who had never seen him, didn’t even know his name. Arthur was ready and the land had been crying out for this for a long, long time.

“Tonight?” Merlin asked and Arthur could hear the worry in his voice. “It’s too soon!”

Kilgharrah shook his great head.

“We have been waiting for this night for generations. What the Du Bois line and the Pendragon line have sacrificed up until now has been for this night, to bring Arthur to Camelot and for him to meet you, Merlin.” Kilgharrah smiled kindly, proudly, down at Merlin. “It is time for you to see what I have been telling you for years. You are ready, young warlock, and now is the time to take Albion from Sigan’s grasp!”

He let out a bellow then and it spread across the land, the wind carrying it. In answer, the roar was echoed by what could have been hundreds of dragons, waiting to seize their land back from the tyranny Sigan had forced upon them.

“Merlin,” Kilgharrah said warmly, bringing his head down to their level. “I believe in the future that you and Arthur will create. Tonight blood will be shed, but it will not be in vain.”

The dragon’s body rumbled as he moved, swinging around until his shoulder was level with Arthur and Merlin.

“I will take you to the citadel. Your people are waiting to fight on your command and the dragons will take to the skies when we do.” Kilgharrah seemed excited, light dancing in his eyes as Merlin took Arthur’s hand.

“The wall needs to be torn down,” Arthur said as he walked over to Kilgharrah. Merlin climbed up Kilgharrah’s side and offered him a hand, and Arthur settled down in front of Merlin, hands clasped tightly around a thick spine.

“And if it can be avoided, please do not kill anyone.” Kilgharrah understood the orders and shouted them to the skies, silky lines of draconic language bursting from his lungs and flowing to the waiting dragons.

“We will fly to avenge those who were bewitched against us,” was the final roar Kilgharrah gave before he shot into the air, wings tightly pressed to his body.

They were flying, truly flying, and Arthur, though they were about to start a war and usurp the throne, laughed. It echoed in Merlin’s chest as they pressed closer, just as Kilgharrah’s wings unfurled and they soared higher.

Around them came the sound of other dragons, deep growls and hums along with powerful wing beats. Arthur looked over his shoulder in amazement, looking at the dragons that were prepared to fight with him. They were different colours, different sizes and shapes, but they were all flying for Albion, and Arthur felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

The wind whipped at his face as they plunged from the cloud layer, right above Camelot’s walls, and Arthur was unsure whether the tears on his cheeks were from the flight or otherwise, but he didn’t have time to think upon that now. He gripped Excalibur, tucked into his belt as she was, and squeezed Merlin’s wrist, resisting the urge to turn around and kiss him. If he kissed Merlin now, it would be like admitting one of them wouldn’t come through this and Arthur planned that Sigan and his followers would be the only ones not coming out of this.

Despite being a massive dragon, it didn’t look as though Kilgharrah had alerted anyone to his presence. It made sense - most people were inside and clouds were low now, most likely an effect of having druids on your side who could manipulate the weather. Low clouds meant that the moon was blocked, and the only sign of Kilgharrah were the swoops of his wings he made.

He couldn’t soar forever and the first beat of his wings alerted the magicians below to his presence. Spells were fired and Merlin threw up a shield around himself and Arthur, but Kilgharrah simply carried on.

“Their petty magic is no match for a dragon,” he said, voice curled with a smile. The magicians below visibly balked, something Arthur could see even though they were a good height clear of the nearest houses.

“We need to get to the citadel,” Merlin said softly, a patient reminder. Kilgharrah nodded and beat his wings, swooping higher past the citadel gates and down over the courtyard.

They were welcomed by magicians and guards alike, weapons pointed upwards and magic crackling on the ground. Kilgharrah waited, poised to strike fire and tooth or to simply drift up and away.

“What do you want to do?” Merlin whispered in Arthur’s ear and everything suddenly became real.

This was a battle, a true battle for the kingdom and Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves in his stomach. It was now or never that he had his chance to become a king and save his people, but he knew it was more than that. His decisions today would be remembered, no matter the ending.

He needed to be Arthur Pendragon, orphan and blacksmith apprentice. He needed to be Ygraine and Uther’s son. He had to be the leader of a mismatched army and a voice for the people. He had to be the man Merlin loved - for all of these pieces were what would make him great.

“Ask them to leave,” Arthur asked of Merlin. “Tell them that you wish them no harm, and give them a choice.”

Merlin nodded and turned to the magicians below. He asked of them to leave, yet none made to move.

“We are giving you a choice,” Arthur said, voice firm as he looked down over the courtyard. “If you remain here, you may be hurt and that is the last thing I want.”

The guards held firm and the magician’s grip on their magic intensified. Merlin’s grip hardened on Kilgharrah’s spine, yet he made no move to interfere, recognising this as something Arthur needed to do.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther and Ygraine Du Bois. I am the legitimate heir of the rightful king, Anlawd, the king that the tyrant Sigan murdered for the crown.” Arthur raised Excalibur and let the sword catch the light of the moon, stars and the vast sky.

“I swear to you that I wish to free the land of Sigan’s curse, but I do not wish to harm you when I can offer you a choice. I believe in the people, something Sigan forgot a long, long time ago.” Arthur looked down and saw the guards lowering their weapons and the magic fading. “If you let us pass, you will be free.”

The use of the word free was loose, something Arthur wanted. He didn’t know much of magicians, but from what Merlin had told him, Arthur knew sorcerers didn’t get a choice. If they were found to have magic, they were escorted to Camelot and turned into nameless magicians. Perhaps some liked it, perhaps some didn’t, but if they came through this, Arthur would give them a choice.

A burst of red light shot towards them suddenly, but Merlin was there, throwing his hands out and blocking it with ease. Golden light erupted around them, framing them, and Arthur wondered what the people below saw.

“Go home, to your families if you wish. You served Sigan well, but he is a false king.” Arthur lowered Excalibur as the light around them began to fade.

Some of the men ran instantly, dropping the weapons. Others waited until Kilgharrah was on the ground and they could look closer at the strange people astride the dragon, but they all left. Only one lingered long enough to bow his head to Arthur before he ran to join the others, but it was enough to warm Arthur’s heart.

“We need to find Sigan,” Merlin said as they dismounted Kilgharrah. “And you need to help the others.”

Kilgharrah snorted, but said nothing against it.

They were about to leave for the centre of the citadel when an almighty boom resonated through the ground. Merlin stumbled and fell and Arthur was propelled forwards against a pillar. His shoulder was bruised, but it was thankfully only small.

“What was that?” he shouted, unsure which side could have produced that.

“What you asked for,” Kilgharrah said, unfurling his wings in preparation to take to the skies. “The wall has gone.”

Arthur gave a bark of laughter, looking to Merlin as he righted himself. He was covered in dirt and his face smudged with mud, but Merlin was smiling back. The wall that had held Camelot back was gone now and, after they’d dealt with Sigan, Arthur would take down the walls surrounding all villages.

If they wished to place up another wall then Arthur would help, but these ones, towering things with Sigan’s raven all over them, were nothing but fancy bindings on a cage. They were symbols of captivity and Arthur, though he had spent his life behind them and at one point needed them, knew they could not live in a world of walls.

“Come on,” Merlin said, tugging at Arthur sleeve and making for the nearby entrance. “Sigan is the only one now.”

Arthur was about to follow Merlin when he shouted out. Merlin turned too late as magic wrapped itself around his ankles, pulling him to the ground with an almighty thump.

“The only one!?” a withered voice shouted. It was Sigan, no doubt about that, and as Merlin struggled to undo the magic cast on him, Arthur turned to the source of the voice, Excalibur poised before him.

“This is my kingdom!” Sigan roared, stepping from the shadows in a cloak of midnight black. His eyes were also dark, too far gone to be considered human. “And yet here you stand, the blood of those who turned against me!”

Sigan curled over himself, hands stretching out. Behind Arthur, Merlin gave a strained gasp and his entire body shuddered, jolting up a moment later in pain.

“What are you doing?” Arthur shouted, lowering himself into a fighting stance. “What are you doing to him?”

A cruel and cold laugh spilled from Sigan’s lips as he shook his head, stepping closer and closer to Arthur and Merlin.

“Emrys is but a name. He is not the one who has conquered immortality! He is but a boy, and a boy who shall soon die.” Sigan’s eyes narrowed on Arthur and he raised his hand.

It happened too fast for Arthur to react and as Sigan pushed him away from Merlin, the breath left him. Excalibur clattered against the cobblestones as he landed, skittering away, and Arthur cradled his side, giving out a strained gasp. He doubted Sigan had meant to kill him with that blow, but he also doubted it would be long before he grew bored.

Arthur knew he was defenceless against Sigan. He had no magic and Sigan was one of the most powerful sorcerers the world had ever seen. Merlin was struggling, though, his breathing erratic, and Arthur knew he couldn’t lay on the ground and do nothing.

So again he stood. And again Sigan threw him to the ground like a rag doll. Again and again it happened until Sigan laughed louder, roaring as he threw Arthur against the pillars. It cracked under the force of magic and Arthur retched, blood spilling from his mouth and onto the floor. He saw Sigan’s glinting eyes as he turned back to Merlin, hands moving to hover above him.

As Arthur’s eyes slipped shut, he wondered if he’d done enough to make his parents proud. He had failed his kingdom and the people, but had he made them proud?

It felt like slipping into a dream, except Arthur had never known a dream like this. The room he was in was pale and sunlight streamed through the window. A face, kind and young, peered down at him before arms reached down, hands tucking themselves under him and lifting him up. He was small, fitting to the woman’s breast like a baby, and Arthur rested his head against her, listening to the first heartbeat he’d ever known.

“No matter what happens,” a soft voice said, vibrating through the woman’s body, “know this one thing, Arthur.”

A man stood from across the room and knelt before them, kissing Arthur’s cheek.

“We will always, always, be proud of you.”

Arthur snapped his eyes open and placed a hand against the pillar. The vision, dream, memory - whatever it was - may not have been true, but he wanted it to be. Those people could have been fabrications of his mind, but they had felt like his parents. They were proud, no matter what, but Arthur refused to let it stop there.

He would never let Sigan kill Merlin. He would never let Sigan take his kingdom when they had this chance and he would never, ever, let Sigan get away with all he’d done.

Excalibur rang true as Arthur pushed the blade through Sigan’s heart. It was enough for a stutter to run through his magic and Merlin snapped free of his control, looking at Arthur with wide eyes. Excalibur wouldn’t be enough, though, and Arthur shouted to Merlin.

“How do you defeat immortality?” he called and a look of incredulous shock crossed Merlin’s face.

And then he was creating a spell, drawing on the magic of the earth and the sky, of the elements and the people. Arthur could feel that Merlin was creating this spell from scratch and knew that Sigan realised this too.

With one last word, Merlin’s eyes burned bright and magic began to tear Sigan to pieces. Excalibur glowed in the calamity, stock still and holding Sigan’s magic back. The dragon-hilt seemed to grow until it was separate from the sword, a miniature dragon that Merlin spoke to, still working his spell.

The rush of magic and Sigan seemed to impact upon itself and the dragon let out a stream of bright blue flames, covering itself and the small bundle. Merlin gave one, final word of magic, barely hissing it as he fell to his knees, and all that was left between them clattered to the floor.

Arthur’s chest was heaving and he moved forwards, falling to his knees beside Excalibur. Her hilt was smooth now, the dragon completely gone. In whatever spell Merlin had created, Arthur knew that the dragon he’d commanded had been the final piece, the one who had created the eternal seal.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said weakly, head bowed down as he rested on all fours. “I needed something strong, something that was magical and yet part of the land. The dragon - you said it was made by the blacksmiths of old? It was perfect to transform into a container, but I’m still sorry.”

Arthur scooted closer, ignoring his sword and the grit that scraped at his grazed knees. His hands were bloody and so was his chin, but he needed to be beside Merlin.

“You have nothing,” Arthur started, tilting Merlin’s head up, “absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

Their kiss tasted of blood and victory, of exhaustion and excitement, but it also tasted of Merlin and Arthur and of Albion. Arthur tightened his grip, pulling Merlin closer and kissing him with something akin to desperation. Sometime during their fight it had begun to rain and Arthur let the water run down over him as he kept pressed to Merlin, refusing to let him go after what had happened.

“I can never lose you,” he admitted when they parted, looking into Merlin’s eyes. “Never. Do you understand?”

Merlin said nothing, but the smile on his lips and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes was all Arthur needed to see.

“The stone needs to go somewhere no one will ever find it,” Merlin said, sagging against Arthur. In the background they could hear the city come alive and dragon-fire lit up the skies in celebration, and Arthur nodded.

“No one ever will,” Arthur promised and stood shakily, helping Merlin and grabbing Excalibur. They left the bright blue stone-heart on the floor, standing beside it as the citadel began to fill, hundreds of people who had heard of the world Arthur wished to build and wanted to see the man himself.

“Sigan is gone,” Merlin said as he bowed his head, following the people as they acknowledged their king. “And you will bring about the greatest age that man will ever see.”

Arthur closed his eyes and let the filth of Sigan wash from the streets. Maybe, just maybe, he could create this golden kingdom Kilgharrah seemed to think he could, but he would simply start by listening to his people and ridding the land of Sigan’s filth.

He would make them all proud and safe. He would secure their future and that of the next generations because he had those he loved, because he wanted to help. That was something he would never forget, that much he vowed as he slumped to his knees, still smiling as the pain finally caught up with him and he let consciousness slip away.

  
**.**   


After just two days of bed rest, Arthur Pendragon was crowned king of Camelot. Before the coronation, he ignored the queue of councilors and coronation organisers to walk the streets, Merlin at his side and a cluster of people following him. He accepted flowers and tokens from all, promising that he would keep them safe and listen.

The word of his promises spread over the land, and Arthur met with those who wished to praise and challenge him alike. He built a council from common, mortal people, former magicians and those from outside of the city, such as druids and Dragonlords. Arthur let his instinct and wisdom guide him, but he never lost sight of what was important and never made a decision that he didn’t believe was right.

Through it all, Merlin watched and aided, arguing when it was necessary and playing devil’s advocate when he had to. Still, no matter what he said to the king and when, Arthur kept him at his side and never went back on the vow he’d made to wake up without him.

The first meeting between Morgana and Arthur had been an odd one. Merlin and Gwen had stood by the side while Morgana had inspected the king, declaring him fit to be Emrys’ match. Merlin had flushed at that and run to her, asking what she’d seen, but Morgana had waved him off with a laugh.

“I wish to accompany Gwen back to Balor,” Morgana had said after that, crossing her arms in defiance. “I believe you came to see if Gwen was in good health on her brother’s wishes, but now that you are king you can hardly travel to Balor.”

She had frowned when Arthur then made to speak.

“That is, at the current time,” she said before Arthur had had a chance. “You’ll tour your kingdom soon enough, though I’d advise against hunting on the first night.” She’d smiled, somewhat wickedly. “Unicorns inhabit the wood and if you go hunting, you will kill one. We don’t need another curse so shortly after Sigan’s was lifted.”

Later, in privacy, Arthur looked to Merlin and declared that Morgana was positively frightening. Merlin had laughed, but made no move to disagree before burrowing under the sheets, making his way down.

(And, though he would ignore Merlin’s knowing smile on the matter, Arthur made sure that no one went hunting the first night of his tour, even if it had meant carrying another wagon full of provisions.)

He’d allowed Gwen and Morgana to go all the same, appointing a handful of newly knighted men - Leon from the stables amongst them - to accompany them. Elyan had returned to Camelot with a smile and Arthur had embraced him like a brother. He’d never be able to thank Elyan enough for what he’d done, even if the man himself refused to accept he was part of Arthur’s rise to the throne.

And while this was no fairytale, and Arthur had his fair share of mistakes and regrets during his life, they lived happily. Camelot prospered and the wealth of its lands and peoples spread over Albion. Magic flowed freely as well as manual trades, and people were free to go about their lives safe in the knowledge that they were protected and treasured by the monarchy.

“You know,” Arthur commented one day, his crown on the table in his room as he and Merlin sat out on the balcony, looking up at the curved moon. “I tried my hardest not to speak to you back at the inn where we met. Thought you were a bit of an idiot.”

Merlin looked at him curiously, smile on his face. It was wide and made him look like a child, but it was one of Arthur’s favourite smiles.

“You did look like an arrogant prat,” he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Arthur smiled. “Just think - if that man hadn’t got up when he had, I’d never have sat next to you.”

“And what kind of king would you have had then?” Arthur asked, bowing his head in mock respect.

“Not one worth serving,” Merlin said, voice suddenly serious and smile dropped from his face.

Arthur nodded and inched closer, stopping before their lips met, whispering his love to Merlin. The stars twinkled above them as Merlin pressed his lips against Arthur’s, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him tighter, and Arthur knew that he could do anything so long as Merlin was beside him.

  
**.**   



End file.
